Unbreakable
by Fullmetal-Tora
Summary: It's been one year since Mello and Matt barely escaped death at the hands of Kira's supporters, but when a vicious ghost from Mello's past returns for vengeance, everything is put on the line in a deadly game neither can afford to lose. Matt/Mello
1. Unrest

**Authors' Notes:**

Yes, I know I usually do oneshots, and people have been perstering me to write longer things. Well, here you go. Though, technically, it is not written entirely by me. This is an ongoing RP with my very good friend and respected fellow-writer penname Hitoshi-chan and thus I'd like to apologize in advance for any confusing shifts in point of view. Hopefully, it all flows well enough, but if POV seems to switch oddly, you'll at least know why. Also, both my friend and I are very averse to swearing, but Matt and Mello obviously aren't. If you can't interpret what a word means if a letter is replaced with an asterisk, I'm afraid you're out of luck.

That being said, some quick background on the story (end of DN spoilers):

It's set after a slightly AU ending in which Matt was shot but not killed and Mello in effect quit the Kira case after Matt's severe injury. Concerning other events, Takada did not have a piece of the Death Note, but all else happened in the same way, including her death and Light's, etc. I.e. the only thing changed is that Mello and Matt did not needlessly die (and just for the record, according to _DN Volume 13: How to Read, _Mello was NOT originally intended by the author to die; in fact, he was scheduled to win out against Near and Kira... Yes, I know, I was pissed too.)

Another note: Later chapters become much darker and more violent, so it is likely the rating will rise. It will only rise for use of strong language and violent content, however.

This is not intended to be specifically Matt/Mello, but it may or may not be implied. I leave that up to the reader to decide. As of now, there will be no shounenai.

_Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, even if Mello and Matt are always in my heart. The antagonist and other people with him are originally created by myself and Hitoshi-chan._

* * *

**UNREST**

The door to the apartment slammed open with quite a ruckus as a thoroughly wet and bedraggled young man burst in, trailing mud and reeking of wet leather. His usually pristine golden hair hung in wet and forlorn-looking strands, steadily dripping dirty rainwater onto his pale, slightly effeminate features, countless muddy drops sliding down the black leather which enveloped his thin but well-muscled body from head to foot. The boy's face was contorted in an immensely irritated grimace and his left fist was clenched around what appeared to be some foil candy wrappers.

He kicked the door shut with about as much care as he had opened it, shoving his booted heel into the well-worn dent in the door where the peeling paint confirmed this time was not his first shutting the door in such a manner.

With a bit of a whining growl, the leather-clad disheveled young man stormed farther into the apartment, almost miraculously remembering to haphazardly kick his muddy boots into the corner where they sat hunched like odd little neglected wet animals.

He slunk into the living room in a sort of sulky silence, steadily dripping onto the carpet, and stared in what could only be called utter exasperation at the tall young man sprawled capriciously on the couch with a pack of cigarettes in one hand and some sort of blinking and beeping device in the other, his full concentration directed to the latter as he attempted to pull a cigarette from the former with his teeth. Around him was almost visible a thin cloud of smoke and the whole room smelled strongly of it.

The blond boy's grimace deepened and he made a retching noise, tossing his candy wrappers into a corner where a steady mountain of half-eaten bags of chips, empty soda cans, pizza boxes and more of that silver foil were escalating precariously. He then proceeded to snatch both the blinking device and the package of smokes from the other in one quick motion that also sprayed rainwater onto both the other occupant of the room and several of the pieces of furniture.

"Dammit, Matt!" the bedraggled blonde growled. "How many damn times to I have to tell you to stop smoking that shit in the house? Goddam rain," he continued in an almost manic rant, tossing the video game device back at his friend but chucking the cigarettes onto the pile of trash, then stripping off his coat and hurling into the foyer where it joined his boots in an odd-smelling pile of wet cowhide. His blue eyes flitted toward the couch Matt was still thoroughly occupying. "Move your ass. I'm exhausted."

Matt, who had previously been using a sleeve to dry himself from the rainwater that had been flung everywhere, was careful to catch the special edition Twilight Princess DS that his aggravated companion has so carelessly thrown at him. The brunette couldn't help but grumble in annoyance as he realized the brief interruption has cost him not only a whole pack of cigarettes, but also his only two remaining lives, and that he must now face the level 36 boss all over again. It annoyed him to the point that for a second he seriously considered pulling the pack from the trash heap where it lay discarded, and lighting up again. He quickly dismissed the thought though, knowing it would only lead to an argument and a headache, and he really wasn't in the mood to deal with Mello's bitching today. Besides, that trash pile had been growing for quite some time now, and he was a little afraid of what diseases he might catch if he took something from the pile and put it in his mouth.

It wasn't like he wasn't used to his temperamental friend's behavior anyway. He languidly pulled his legs from the other half of the worn down couch, and reached his arms haphazardly into the air to stretch. He gave a half-hearted, "welcome back" mid-stretch, before relaxing into the couch once again. He heard a spring pop somewhere in the beaten down sofa, and mentally added 'buy new couch' to a long list of things to do.

The gamer stared dejectedly at the 'Game Over' flashing brightly across his screen in bold red letters, and opted to continue later, closing the small silver contraption with a quiet snap.

Glancing at Mello, he finally noticed that it was indeed raining, and pretty hard from the looks of it. The normal shade of yellow of Mello's hair was a few shades darker then usual, and as he watched, Matt could see the drops gathering at its tips and falling. There were dark spots of wetness on the couch, floor, and everything else the blonde had been in close proximity to. He hadn't even known it had been raining until Mello had dragged himself in looking like something that had been spat out of the gutter. The otherwise occupied boy hadn't really taken the time to look out the window today, and he definitely hadn't been outside, though--and he made a mental note causing a frown to come to his face--he would have to go out later tonight to go restock his cigarettes now that Mello had trashed his last pack.

"So how did your day go?" he inquired nonchalantly, only hoping he wasn't setting off a time bomb in doing so.

The blond threw himself onto the couch with a huge grumbling sigh, sinking into the old pillows as if melting. He threw his gloves, some guns, a grenade, and some other random accessories including some more of those silver wrappers on the small table in front of them and stuck out a hand demandingly. "Chocolate," he barked haughtily, not actually mistaking his friend for a servant yet at the moment unwilling to get up and get his own. As Mello waited, he continued roughly.

"So yeah... Day went about as smooth as sandpaper on a stucco wall," he spat in anger directed at the world in general. With a tired scowl, the blond turned his head slightly to watch Matt in the kitchen. "...can I get the kind with nuts?" he added to his previous demand in a tone that was startlingly mild compared to the one he had been using just a second ago. Complying second naturedly to his friend's command, Matt found himself with his head in the refrigerator before his mind had even registered leaving the comfort of the couch. He mentally shrugged off the instinctive behavior, reaching a hand past the molding substance that he was pretty sure had once been Chinese takeout, and into one of Mello's many stashes.

Hearing, the chocolate lover's specification, the brunette easily grabbed a chocolate bar of the nutty assortment. He didn't have to see the bar to know which ones were nutty, just had to reach into the back left corner. He was, after all, the one who had organized Mello's Chocolate in such an easily obtainable manner. It was always best, he had learned from experience, to get his best friend what he wanted in a timely manner.

He grabbed a soda for himself before he headed back to the living room equipped with both stimulants, kicking the fridge closed with his foot as he went.

"So what exactly," he began as he plopped himself down onto the cushions rather ungracefully, "did Near have you up to anyway?" He finished, genuine curiosity evident in his voice.

He held out the bar for his friend to take, while he placed his soda on the ground next to his feet, using his free hand to push his orange goggles up onto his head, and in doing so letting Mello know he had his full attention.

The blond managed a rather odd look of gratitude at the chocolate his friend tossed at him coupled with deepest resentment at the topic he had brought up. Overall it made for an interesting effect on his face that made him look like he had swallowed a bug.

Unwrapping and biting into his favorite snack with unwarranted violence, Mello growled around the mouthful, "So that ass Near called, practically begging me to help him on this case, y'know, wanting me to help him catch the mess he had let escape..." He scoffed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and glaring at nothing in particular as he was prone to do. "Had me chasing the stupid bastards right into the goddam gutter! Apparently they were some sort of wannabe bio-terrorists heading for New York..." He let out another sigh and bit off another bit of chocolate as if professing judgment on the criminals... or Near, more like.

"Dammit, why can't that white-haired freak do this himself?" he continued in a sort of muffled growl due to his mouth being full. "He's so weak, he can't do anything himself. At least I would've gotten to rub it in his smug little face, but... Well, at least he's paying us a crapload..." He made a face, resenting the fact that ever since he had left the mafia, he and Matt had been earning their livings doing occasional detective work with, and sometimes without, Near.

After falling silent in a brooding death glare for a few seconds, though, Mello gave a noncommittal shrug, dismissing the matter for now, and continued. "So anyway, long story short, Near didn't give me enough info, I was outnumbered and discovered, and then I had to high-tail it outta there via the sewer line...I'll get him back for this, stupid careless bastard...Right, Ma--huh?" He blinked, noticing the disgusted face Matt was making. "What?"

Matt couldn't help but scrunch his face up in repulsion as his friend recalled his escape story, and he felt his stomach grow queasy as Mello's words sank in. The rancid stench that had begun to slowly creep off of his friend's attire certainly didn't help to quell his rising nausea. He eyed the water spots adorning the carpet and furniture with a newfound abhorrence. Who knew what kind of germs and diseases were lurking in all of the putrid sludge Mello had dragged himself through?

"Ugh, take a shower man. I mean, come on, the Sewer?" he punctuated his claim with a pointed look at the blonde's soggy clothes and hair. His relaxed demeanor had gone, and he found himself being extra careful not to make any physical contact with his unhygienic friend. Repressing a shiver and trying not to imagine exactly what Mello had crawled through, he continued.

"I know we aren't exactly poster boys for Mr. Clean or anything, but that's just downright unsanitary."

He had to resist the urge snatch Mello's chocolate bar out of his hands and throw it into the garbage disposal. He settled instead for frowning at the candy, as though it's probable contamination was it's own fault.

Despite his sudden need for a cigarette, he was glad he had decided earlier to forego pulling his pack from the trash.

He also made a mental note to clean his DS with alcohol, and realizing he had come into contact with the DS after it had come in contact with Mello, he swiftly stood, making his way to the kitchen to wash his hands.

And while he didn't grab the bar out of Mello's hands, he did hold one hand out expectantly, counting on the blonde to get the picture.

Mello stared at Matt as if he were some odd and repulsive creature reaching for his snack, then shoved the rest of it in his mouth, taking care not to actually touch anything but the wrapper, then stood with an offended snort. "God, Matt, I was GOING to take a shower of course, you ass! I'm goddam exhausted and you won't even let me rest a second! Jesus!" Unzipping and stripping off his vest right there with unpleasant squelching protests from the wet leather, Mello threw it to join the rest of the rancid leather in the corner and stomped off toward the bath with a muttered string of curses, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later, a skinny white arm protruded from the bathroom to dump the remainder of Mello's clothes outside the door then slammed it again, the blonde's barking voice drifting out from inside, "You can put 'em out on the balcony if your pretty little hands aren't too _clean_ to touch them, _ass_."

There was some banging around, a few more curses, the sound of the shower sputtering for a second and starting, then a yelp from Mello at either the unexpected heat or cold of the water before there was finally peace once more with only the sounds of the soft splashing of the shower blending into the similar sound of the rain outside.

He sighed, blue eyes closing as the hot steam filled the tiny room, letting the pleasantly almost-scalding water run over his bruised skin, soothing tired muscles, letting it wash away the annoyance and frustration with the rest of the filth of the day. Breathing gently, he tried to clear his mind, a feat always very difficult for someone who tended to get carried away by overwhelming emotion, but the nagging, almost guilty feeling that had been gnawing at him for several hours now just wouldn't go away. He tried to dismiss it as hunger, but...

Mihael Kheel held his breath and tipped his face up toward the shower head, trying to stop thinking. _If I do this, it's not like I'm giving into Near, it's more like I'm beating him at something he's too weak to come and do for himself. It's not as if I give a rat's ass about anybody else. It's all about beating Near...It's all about never letting myself lose to anyone, ever..._

Memories of earlier in the afternoon flashed in his head unpleasantly. He'd been tracking them since a few days earlier, found their hideout, staked them out. It was going as planned; they were all but in his victorious grasp. After all, Near had said they were petty criminals, drug dealers of some sort, nothing special. But when Mello had infiltrated the lab, even he was horrified.

Children, covered in chemical burns, forced to manufacture what he later found out was some sort of gaseous substance. Plans to take down an entire city. Poison and death and screaming women and children... It was all mixed up, a whirlwind of sight and sound and rancid stench that still made him want to lose his last meal.

Mello was no naïve boy; he was no stranger to death and pain; his usual devil-may-care attitude coupled with a long-festering, bitter grudge toward the world in general had made him a hard and strong fighter. But even he had some sense of morality. Even he was sickened by such blatant evil.

And then he had acted foolishly, governed once more by emotions which in retrospect seemed so stupid, and his rashness had let them get away. No, he corrected himself, his rashness and his sudden inexplicable burst of goddam compassion when on some idiotic whim he had led the kids to escape and given the bastards time to run away, time to outnumber him, and time to chase him like a dog through the sewers of LA.

Mello was not one to forgive such humiliation easily. He was not one to let his prey get away so easily.

Yes, _his_ prey, not Near's. It had never been Near, he knew who did the hunting. No, it was never that coward Near who stood looking down the barrel of a gun, grinning in the face of death. And it would never be Near who garnered the satisfaction of evading yet another bullet, living for another minute, feeling the adrenaline pump like rock music at full volume in his head.

Nate River was a pathetic little boy, manipulating people from the shadows, never appreciating life with that cold and calculating look in his eye. Even his alias suggested weakness. Near. Always staying close by those stronger than him, relying on their strength and pretending it was his own. Never acting. Always _thinking. _Always goddam _pondering _and _analyzing_.

Mello had always resented him for that, for his fing high-and-mighty attitude even though he was just a smart-ass little wimp secluded behind his Lego fortresses. A cold machine-like intellect, nothing more. Nothing fazed him, not human suffering, not death, nothing-- because he had faced nothing.

And that was precisely why, when Near had called an hour ago and said to drop the case, to just tip off the NYPD and let the Americans take care of it, that burning hatred had reared again in Mello's chest and prompted him to do a very foolish thing. After all, Mello did hate to admit defeat and giving up the chase now meant just that.

The shower groaned and sputtered to an eventual stop when he pulled the lever, reaching for a towel.

No, it wasn't the thought of those disfigured children or the deaths that would occur if he didn't catch those freaks now. Of course not. It was just the fact that he couldn't leave a job half-assed, not like Near. That was all. And besides, those jerks owed him a new set of clothes, or at least a huge cleaning bill...

The blonde boy reappeared again, letting out a puff of shower steam when he opened the bathroom door, with a towel around his rather scrawny hips and another in his left hand as he toweled off his golden hair.

"Hey, Matt," he called, seeming in much better spirits and almost calm, which was quite a rarity. "See if you can use those crazy computer skills of yours to hack into the LAX flight schedule or something and get us some tickets to New York for tomorrow morning," he instructed genially, wandering over to the fridge to fish out another chocolate bar.

Matt couldn't help but glance up with an expression of surprise etched across his face as Mello exited the bathroom, a torrent of warm steam trailing behind. The brunette had once again picked up his handheld game when Mello had entered the shower, but now he put it down once more upon hearing his friend's request for tickets. To New York. _For tomorrow_.

He had begun to open his mouth to ask what the hell for, but stopped. There was Something in Mello's tone of voice that made him rethink his argument. It wasn't just in his tone of voice though. It was in the way he moved, the way he didn't yell at Matt for wasting time on his DS. He was acting strangely... calm. Well, not "strangely", for anyone else, but anytime the word "calm" was used in conjunction with the name "Mello", it tended to be strange. It was a rare occurrence indeed, and Matt decided not to push his luck by starting a fight now.

Besides, Matt thought to himself as he ran a hand through disheveled tufts of auburn hair, the gamer could scream and yell and whine at Mello for hours and hours, about the inconvenience, and about how Mello expected him to procure tickets to New York without even telling him _why_. In the end it would be pointless anyway because Matt always gave in. Always. He knew he'd end up doing whatever Mello asked of him, and Mello knew it too. It was just the way they worked, Mello leading and Matt following blindly.

Might as well save himself the argument, when from every angle it was already a lost cause.

He sighed softly as he placed his game down on a small coffee table, and pulled one of his laptops onto his lap. Hacking into the restricted portions of the LAX web site would be relatively easy, if time consuming, so he didn't need to hardwire, his laptop would be sufficient.

He pulled up the LAX site and scrolled through the flight schedules. After a minute of searching he found a few flights heading to JFK that still had open seats left. There were coach seats open in seven different flights for tomorrow. Much as he'd like, it was too risky to cheat their way into first class. He went with the airline with the shortest traveling time, a stunning 5 hours and 8 minutes in comparison to the other airline's five hours and 43 minutes. He could care less about the difference, but knew he'd never hear the end of it if Mello somehow found out there had been a shorter flight. Besides, who knew if his blonde friend's good mood would hold out until tomorrow, and if it didn't as was probable, Matt definitely didn't want to be stuck sitting next to him on an airplane for any longer then what was necessary.

He read the flights to himself, mentally trying to figure when the best time of arrival would be. He frowned in thought. It would have been a lot easier if he had known why they were going to New York in the first place, but once again refrained from asking. Matt trusted Mello would tell him when it became necessary for the hacker to know. If it became necessary.

Running over the flight times in his mind, he decided that Mello would probably want to be there as soon as possible, evidenced by the fact that they were leaving tomorrow morning, so he focused on the earliest flights. One at 6:30, and one at 7:30. He chose the 7:30.

Screw soon as possible, he needed some sleep.

Flight now decided, Matt tapped his fingers against his thighs in thought. Now that he actually took the time to think about it, he realized it would be way too much trouble to actually hack into the site and steal tickets. A pretty simple job, but not worth the time it would take. Instead he chose to purchase the tickets the normal way, only he wired the money from someone else's account. Okay, So maybe it wasn't a completely normal transaction.  
Finishing up with a few more clicks, he placed his laptop on the cushion and quickly hooked it up to the printer. He printed the confirmation of their tickets and gave it a quick look over before approaching Mello with the page.

"Flight leaves at 7:30." He announced to his friend, paper held out for Mello to see.

The blond glanced over, cocking his head to the side as if the paper was written in some sort of upside-down code even though it was perfectly straight. "Ok, thanks. Just make sure you wake me up on time, since you're usually quite the lazy-ass."

Ignoring the fact Matt looked about to have a heart attack at the fact Mello had actually uttered a certain word beginning with the letter T which almost certainly had been nonexistent in his vocabulary until now, he wandered over to the small bedroom opposite the kitchen, tugged on a faded black turtleneck and some sweatpants and wandered back over to the fridge... all without getting mad at anything.

It seemed a sure sign of the apocalypse.

The peace, however, didn't last long--which may have been a good thing because poor Matt seemed rather stunned at Mello's uncharacteristic silence.

Thankfully though, after searching in the fridge for a few minutes and pulling out several Styrofoam boxes--all of which were sniffed and quickly discarded--the familiar annoyed tones drifted in from the kitchen. "What the hell, Matt, there's nothing to eat!" the blond complained loudly. "And... I think this Chinese food is in the process of mutating into a man-eating monster of some sort..."

He stomped back in, holding a Styrofoam take-out box at arms' length and making the most disgusted face he could muster. "Someone needs to throw all this crap away," he announced, staring pointedly at the mountain of garbage in the corner by the door. "Because honestly, I swear it WILL mutate and eat us! I mean just look at that shit. It's disgusting. You're such a pig, Matt."

He tossed the rotting take-out and some other dubious-looking objects that had come out of the refrigerator onto the top of the pile, then went back into the bedroom to finish getting dressed. In another inexplicable act of rarity, he came back out wearing a sweater and some sneakers belonging to Matt, apparently not wishing to dig in the dark (the light bulb had burnt out a few days ago) for new clothes of his own.

Giving Matt, who hadn't even looked up from his game, a pointed stare, Mello declared in his usual haughty tone, "I'm borrowing these and I'm going out to get us some REAL food that won't turn my insides into radioactive goo if I try to eat it. You clean this place up a bit. If we leave it like this it may evolve into the next Godzilla." He gave a wild laugh, tearing open another chocolate bar as he headed for the door, the phrase "no dessert before dinner" being utterly alien to him. "That'd be kinda funny actually. But, no, really, clean up your shit, Matt. It IS your apartment."

Without even bothering to wait for the retort that was sure to accompany his accommodator's bewildered stare, the blond slammed the door shut again.

"What the _Hell_?"

Matt couldn't help but verbalize his thoughts, even though Mello had already closed the door and gone. It was…odd. Mello was acting far more passive then usual, and although the change was inarguably a good one, the gamer couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong. He shook his head, but decided not to think about it too much.

Remembering his friend's parting words, he looked up from his place on the couch and grimaced as he took in his surroundings.

Besides the steadily escalating pile of garbage in the corner, there were numerous other issues that desperately needed tending too. An assortment of plates, silverware, and cups were overflowing from one side of the sink, and even from the couch he could see dried splashes of tomato sauce, a hardened yellow substance that might once have been cheese, and various other colorful grimes and stains coating the dishware. The coffee table in front of the TV was sporting a thin layer of dust and crumbs, and he was sure the carpet wasn't doing too much better. There was a mixture of socks, shirts, and old jeans spread out throughout the room, in addition to Mello's recently deposited leather.

The blonde was right. This place desperately needed a cleaning. Reluctantly depositing his DS beside his PS2 and below the TV, the brunette retreated to the bedroom, using the glow of his cell phone to light the way to his dresser. He grabbed some old jeans and a faded red Mario T-shirt, and pulled off his usual beige vest and white and black striped long sleeve shirt. As he changed he mentally decided the order in which tasks would be carried out. The trash pile came first, but he would have to empty the fridge so that he could take care of all the garbage at once. Dressed in his cleaning clothes, he exited the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled different dish soaps and cleaners out of the way before finding the garbage bags. He grabbed one of them, but kept the box out just in case he needed another.

After another ten minutes he had emptied the fridge of everything that was likely passed it's expiration date (which was everything but the chocolate and a few sodas) and added it to the garbage mound. Groaning inwardly, he wearily approached the sickening pile and after a few minutes of pondering, he realized that the most efficient way of transferring garbage to garbage bag would be by hand. Great. He swore to himself never ever to let the apartment get this bad again as he began the revolting process.

He let his mind wander, or rather forced it to think of something other then his current chore as he found it made the gagging less frequent and the rancid smell less pungent. Naturally his thoughts once again drifted to his blonde friend and their hasty upcoming expedition. It wasn't as though Matt was unused to Mello's sporadic behavior, but New York? And how long were they going to be staying there anyway? Mello hadn't said anything about a round trip, so was this move going to be permanent? He frowned at the thought. Surely his friend would have mentioned that little fact. Wouldn't he have?

"I mean," he spoke aloud to himself again, "he would know I'd have to take care of things here. I can't just leave my apartment without telling anyone, or breaking my lease or anything…" Even spoken aloud, he knew his words were only there to comfort himself, but knew even he didn't really believe them as a small knot began to tighten in his stomach.

He reached for another piece of trash only to discover he was groping at air. It seemed he hadn't noticed he was done. The brunette tied the black bag into a knot and grabbed his key to the apartment. He really didn't want to wait for trash pick up, and there was a dumpster in the apartment complex parking lot. Locking the door behind himself, he took the stairwell the two floors down, and made his way to the dumpster across the parking lot, all the while thoughts in chaos.

Mello was his best friend. Despite the blonde's unfriendly and often cruel nature, Matt believed that that particular sentiment was reciprocated. But even then, the ex mafia leader could sometimes treat Matt just as badly as he treated everyone else. Though Matt did notice it seemed Mello made a visible effort to restrain himself when it came to the gamer, there were times when he failed, and Matt was often at the receiving end of cruelty meant for someone else. It was convenient after all, as Matt was _always_ there.

The pensive boy paused in his thoughts long enough to chuck the bag into the dumpster, and begin making his way back up to the room, before resuming his introspective worries once more.

Sometimes, Matt wondered if that's all he was to Mello. A convenience. Though for the most part he didn't believe it, it was events like this New York trip, times when Mello didn't ask for Matt's unquestioning loyalty, but simply demanded it, that made him rethink his situation. This kind of behavior that made him question what the current subject of his mind really thought of him. Was he a reliable friend, or someone who was just there, and on occasion happened to be useful?

He found himself nose to nose with his apartment door, unlocked it and entered. Wanting to distract himself from his current train of thought, he examined what would have to be done. Next he would have to clean the couple pieces of furniture, so he began mindlessly moving the objects that obstructed the task. Dishes to the sink. Game boxes underneath the TV. Electronics to the bedroom. Once he had finished he grabbed the Windex and some paper towels and began cleaning the empty surfaces. Inevitably, his thoughts drifted once again.

So why did he stay? Why _was_ his loyalty so damn unfaltering? Sure, he'd never been closer to anyone else in his entire lifetime, but what was the point if he was only some kind of convenient pawn? As if answering his own thoughts, he was reminded of Mello's brief words, or word really, earlier that day.

Thanks.

So maybe he had only been thanking him for a menial task, but still. Matt shook his head and grinned slightly. Mello wasn't exactly the kind of guy to say thanks to just anyone.

And suddenly the world was back to being right.

It was ludicrous for Matt to doubt Mello. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how stupid and over analytical he was being. God he was being such a drama queen! He smirked. Must have been around Mello too long, he silently thought to himself.

Regardless of how much of an inconsiderate jerk the blonde could be, he cared. Matt didn't care if he couldn't prove it with actions or words, he simply knew Mello cared. The way he acted, the things he said, that was just how Mello _was_.

And Damn it all if Matt didn't like him because of it.

Grinning like a maniac, and occasionally breaking out into full on snickering, Matt continued cleaning, his state of mind a complete one eighty from just a few minutes ago.

So they were going to New York. It's not like he really had anything here in LA that he would be leaving behind anyway. Hell, the only reason he stayed here in the first place, was, well, was because Mello was here. Cackling again at the complete idiocy on two legs that was Mail Jeeves, he decided he was going to like New York.  
After all, it had everything and the only thing he'd ever really needed.

- - - - - -

The wind slapped against his chest and arms, echoing within his helmet like the hollow screeches of a banshee as Mihael Kheel sped down Sunset Blvd. on his black Kawasaki Ninja bike, scowling at the biting cold beneath the thick plastic covering his face. Well, at least it had stopped raining... But, damn, it was still hella cold, even for early spring. It was frikkin' Southern California, dammit, notorious for its year-round warm weather.

_Yeah, warm weather, my ass, _Mello thought bitterly, regretting the fact he hadn't bothered to put on more clothes. At least he had remembered to grab his extra pair of gloves, even though his hands were freezing enough as it was.

Cerulean eyes scanning the street for anything still open, he decided he wasn't in the mood for pizza, having eaten nothing but that for the last few days since neither he nor Matt had bothered to leave the apartment last week and thank God Domino's delivered or they'd have starved.

Looking around some more, he also decided he didn't want Mexican food; he couldn't stomach spicy things even though Matt loved them. He thought about Chinese, but decided against it for no other reason than that he would have to make a U-turn and wait at the stop light and he absolutely loathed stop lights. Also, the thought of that funky-smelling Styrofoam box that had once contained Panda Express was still too fresh in his mind.

Finally he settled on KFC. Matt liked it, Mello didn't really care either way, and it was also conveniently placed so that he wouldn't even have to change lanes.

Screeching to a halt in the parking lot, Mello tugged off his black helmet, smoothing his still-damp golden hair, and strolled into the building just as they were about to close. Some lady holding keys and a mop looked about to tell him to leave, but quickly seemed to rethink this notion when the blond shot her a withering glare and sauntered up to the counter.

The rather pimply boy behind the register gave him a disapproving glance, eyeing the dark helmet held loosely in his left hand, his gaze moving up to the scowling glare directed at him and lingering on the large scar covering the left half of his late-night customer's face.

Mello's breath hitched angrily in his throat and he barely prevented his hand from diving for his gun. How dare this scum look at him in such...revulsion?! He hated it when people looked at his scar. Frikkin' little teenage brat!

Finally he managed to squeeze words through his tightly clenched teeth, eyes blazing with icy blue fire. "Get me a 12-piece meal with lots of fries and make it snappy," he growled, darkly relishing the look of utter terror on the kid's face. With an angry grimace, Mello slammed a gloved hand on the counter, "Well, I haven't got all night, you little bastard, MOVE IT!"

He turned to give the cleaning lady a burning glare as well while he waited, daring her to reprimand him. For good measure, he made sure to glower pointedly at every camera in the place too, just to let whoever eventually watched those tapes know that he hated them too.

Dammit, this was taking longer than he'd thought. They'd probably already shut down the machines or whatever they made these chicken things with for the night so it was taking longer than usual. Bored with glaring silently at the middle-aged cleaning woman who stood cowering the corner, he turned to stare blankly at the menu above the counter, eyes immediately drifting to the dessert section.

"Hey," he barked into the kitchen, enjoying the sight of the boy flinching at his voice. "Get me a chocolate cake and a chocolate parfait too, brat... and some mini apple pie things, got it?"

Matt liked pie... he thought. Oh, well, may as well get his friend something he liked too, if he was getting a bunch of dessert for himself. Besides, it was Matt's credit card anyway.

Having paid and grabbed the bags of enticingly smelling food, Mello left the poor boy at the register nearly in tears and returned to his bike. He proceeded to stuff the food into the bags attached to the back of the motorcycle, pulling the sweatshirt closer around him to ward against the late-night cold. He pulled it up around his face, adjusting bags here and there with his other hand so they wouldn't bounce around too much. There was something... something in the familiar smell of smoke mixed with Matt's cologne radiating off the sweater that washed his mind of the recent annoyances in the restaurant, chased away the repulsed and terrified look that kid had given his scarred face. It had a sort of... calming... effect and Mello tugged his helmet back on somehow feeling much less angry and defensive, though of course that was something he would never admit.

Driving recklessly had always been his style, but tonight he didn't go too much over the speed limit, only half paying attention to the road, calculating and mulling over this and that, things they would need for the trip, things that needed to be taken care of here. First of all, he needed his bike and his guns...And goddam airplane security might be an issue... Damn, this was getting to be a bigger pain than he'd first expected. He immensely hated it, but he had to admit that the only sure way he could think of to secure everything he needed in the quickest way possible was...

Slamming on his break in front of the apartment building, Mello jumped off his bike with an angry growl, kicking the wall hard enough to make a large chip of stucco fall off. "DAMMIT!" he swore loudly, WHY? He LOATHED having to depend on Near and his stupid little force of men, but without fail that was the only way they could secure everything he would need, including money, living space, vehicles, everything. He hated to admit it, but he knew that he and Matt did not have the means and probably never would. God how he absolutely ABHORRED the very thought of having to rely on goddam Near for something else...but... It was either that or be tackled by airport security because without securing clearance from the international force Near commanded, it was impossible to travel with all his weapons, even for Mello. And it would certainly be foolish--not to mention hella expensive-- to suggest they buy everything from a new apartment to guns in New York.

Slamming into the wall with another side kick, Mello turned to begin tearing everything out of his bags with as much violence as he could muster without destroying their dinner too much, tearing off his helmet to hurl it at their front door. He absolutely hated, hated, HATED doing this with Near's help but it just had to f-ing be the most convenient, didn't it?

"MATT! Get your skinny ass out here!" he yelled, giving the side wall of their apartment another swift kick for good measure and tugging the sweatshirt closer to him again in an attempt to quell the odd angry heat rising in his chest, clashing with the freezing air, and making him shiver even more.

Placing the last washed and dried dish in its rightful place in the cupboard, Matt took a moment to admire his handiwork. He didn't think the apartment had been this clean since the day he had moved in. Clothes now hung in closets, the dishes were so polished that he could see his reflection, and every surface had been wiped free of all grime. Hell, he'd even vacuumed. He'd sprayed the apartment with some kind of pine scented air freshener in order to get rid of the lingering odor of rot, and he gratefully took a deep breath of air. His moment of satisfaction however, was interrupted by the sound of something slamming against the door, followed by an all too familiar angry voice demanding the gamer's presence.

So much for relaxing with a good game and then calling it a night.

Wearily but with haste he approached the door. From the sounds of it Mello's good mood from earlier seemed to have vanished only to be replaced by the usual air of irritation. At least the blonde wouldn't be able to complain about the state of chaos the apartment had been in before, or for that matter accuse Matt of lazing around playing games the entire time he'd been gone.

He opened the door only to be met with a very flustered, extremely upset looking blonde.

For all of his friend's ferocity though, Matt couldn't help but allow the corners of his mouth to curl slightly upwards.

Though he'd seen him leaving, and heard Mello shout something about borrowing the gamer's clothes, he hadn't taken the time to notice what the hell the blonde had been yelling about. Really, Mello yelled all of the time, half of the time Matt just tuned him out.

There was just something about seeing his best friend donning one of his own sweatshirts as opposed to the usual leather that made the former mafia boss a little less threatening. Comical even.

Though he knew if he ever admitted that aloud he'd probably end up with a few bullets embedded in his skull, so instead of commenting aloud he allowed himself to smirk very slightly as he moved aside to let Mello in from the cold.

With a glare that could probably kill kittens, Mello stepped forward aggressively, shoving the bags of take-out into the gamer's hands before he elbowed past him into the apartment, kicking his helmet inside where it bounced of the bedroom door and lay in the middle of the empty floor like a misshapen ball of some sort. Still breathing heavily and shivering, the blond tromped inside and collapsed onto the couch, left hand diving into the pocket of Matt's sweater to pull out a king-size Hershey's which he tore open for all the world as if the candy bar had done him some unspeakable wrong, then proceeded to shove it into his mouth as if it were the last Hershey's on Earth.

"Set the table, Matt," he barked around a mouthful. "And--" Mello stopped, blinking, eyes glued to his helmet on the floor by his feet. Moreover, he was slowly coming to realize it was the ONLY thing on the floor by his feet... actually, on the floor in general.

In a voice with absolutely no discernable emotion--a very rare feat for the blond--Mello just stated, "You cleaned."

He didn't sound quite skeptical, nor happy... Mostly it was probably just sheer bewilderment at being able to see the carpet once more. Something else registered suddenly.

"...and it doesn't smell like smoke and shit in here anymore." The blond turned slowly to look at Matt as if he'd grown a couple extra limbs.

The brunette gave a noncommittal shrug at Mello's words, though inside he was slightly glad that the blonde had noticed. Not like he needed to feel appreciated or anything, just glad to know it had at least helped to better his friend's mood, if the tone of Mello's voice was any indication. Complying with the demand, he made his way to the silverware drawer. (The thought that he now knew where it was made him just a little excited.) Pulling two forks from the drawer, and a few napkins from the take out bag just for good measure, he began to set the table quickly. He hadn't noticed before but he was actually pretty hungry. He figured it was probably the tempting aroma coming from whatever it was that Mello had bought that had brought this fact to his attention.

He glanced at the bag noting it was KFC. He was glad, he certainly wouldn't have been able to stomach any Chinese after dealing with the leftovers earlier. His stomach gave a loud growl, and he quickly pulled up a chair.

"Hey, table's set." He informed his reclining friend who still seemed to be inspecting the room.

The blond looked up a little blankly, still seeming a bit dazed from the cleanliness and perhaps, subconsciously, from his constant mood swings today. After all, he'd been roaming around underground all day, gotten the best of, his ego stomped on, and after that it had just been the usual emotional roller coaster between all the hectic thoughts of Near and catching those bastards who'd outsmarted him earlier and then having to deal with the idiot kid in the shop... He'd never admit it, even to himself, but with the evening dragging on past midnight now, he was exhausted.,

"Okay," he muttered, dragging himself off the coach and slumping into a kitchen chair, reaching for the boxes to pile a bunch of fries and ketchup onto his plate. He then proceeded to pick out only drumsticks from the chicken meal and added them to the small mountain of food in front of him. For a second, his left hand drifted near his chest as if searching for the silver rosary that usually hung there, but then remembered it was probably discarded somewhere on the bathroom counter at the moment and decided he could skip 'prayer' for today. Not that it was really prayer. More like a sort of quick and vague reminder that he had believed in a God once and now he wasn't sure. But he kept at it for reasons he couldn't even quite explain to himself and he wore the cross his mother had given him before he could even remember her. He had been told she was Catholic, so he had studied the religion devoutly as a child and tried asking God to bring his parents back, then later to help him with other things.

But of course, God has never shown He had heard and thus now He had been reduced to a mere short fingering of the holy cross before dinner whenever Mello happened to remember that there had been a time once when he had still observed the Ten Commandments.

Tossing such useless thoughts aside, the blond proceeded to tear into the chicken in a manner that suggested it was the root of all his moral dilemma and deserved his entire wrath at the moment. Thus, there was no occasion for conversation and dinner passed quickly, all traces of everything from the potato skins to the ketchup packets disappearing in a matter of minutes.

When he was finished, Mello slouched back in his chair, pushing to empty plates and boxes aside and lazily stretching his be-socked feet onto the table. "Matt, I'll be needed one or two of your computers. Set up a connection with Near for me, will ya? I need to settle some last minute things so we can have everything we need when we get there." Although he tried to sound as nonchalant as possible if only for the simple reason that he'd eaten so much he suspected he may be sick if he got himself too worked up, the words were still forced through gritted teeth and his eyes flashed in defiance as if Near were the one demanding he make this call and it wasn't of his own free choice. Reaching a little too aggressively into the last bag holding the desserts, he pulled out his chocolate parfait and cake, sort of dumped them together onto a plate to form one very chocolate concoction and began to systematically shovel his creation into his mouth with a plastic spoon.

Digging around in the bag a bit more, he pulled out some extra napkins and another little box, shoving it at Matt with the spoon still sticking rather comically out of a corner of his mouth.

"Here," he growled around the mouthful of whatever par-cake thing he was currently chewing. "I got you pie. Now get me a connection with that little white haired bastard before I change my mind and we end up having to steal some kid's tricycle for transportation around the goddam 'Big Apple.' Why the hell is it called an apple anyway? That sounds so...stupid. Helluva name, apple. Yeah, right." He continued mumbling to himself in this manner while deciding to try eating his mixture with his fingers instead, the spoon having broken in his little rant against Near and since, of course, he was too lazy and comfortable slouched back in his chair to get up for another one.

Matt finished his own meal off just as quickly, if not as viciously as his counterpart, and took the pie that Mello was offering, (okay well more like forcing on him, not that he minded) with a quick thanks, and a somewhat disappointed glance away from his friend.

He'd actually been getting a little used to Mello's rare good mood this evening, and wasn't exactly thrilled to hear his friend would be making contact with Near. Conversations between Mello and the pale boy they'd met way back at Wammy's NEVER ended well.

He ran a hand through his disheveled auburn hair, and a little reluctantly stood from the table making his way to the computer on the opposite side of the room. He took the small boxed pie with him, grabbing a fork as he left. All the while, his thoughts lingering on what the outcome of Mello's conversation would be.

It wasn't like Near went out of his way to piss Mello off, not most of the time anyway, but the white haired boy could have called to give Mello ten grand, and the blonde would still have come away from the conversation with murderous intent. Matt didn't think he'd ever understand Mello's hell bent obsession with out doing Near. As far as he could tell all it had done in the past was almost get the blonde killed. Hell, Mello had joined the mafia rather then work with the object of his hatred. As far as Matt was concerned, Mello was perfectly fine the way he was, minus this obsessive loathing for the other boy. It just seemed to take much too much time and effort for Matt's liking.  
He pulled a wheeled chair up to the computers, and sat down, placing his pie on the edge of the desk. He began, using one hand to connect the wires that would allow them contact with Near, while the other diligently continued to allow him access to his surprisingly still hot apple pie. He shrugged off his uncertainty, knowing that whatever reason his friend had for contacting the younger boy must have been good, and he really didn't want to say anything at all that might set Mello off.

The blond watched his friend out of the corner of his eyes, pushing away the squished bits of what was left of his desert as if they had offended him, his expression once again entirely changed.

Ok, so Matt seemed to be in a pretty good mood. He was being very complacent... silently complacent, that is. And though Mello liked it when he didn't have to have (in his opinion) unnecessary arguments with Matt, there was just something that kept making him restless. However, he had nothing to say, really. Well, more like he was a bit unwilling to speak now as he knew it would probably lead to a fight with Matt. It always did, even when he didn't mean it. The words just came out, much harsher than he'd intended them and never directed at the source of whatever had made him angry at that moment.

He was well-fed and was supposed to be relaxing, but the impatience and annoyance that had returned tenfold shortly after he'd left after attempting to clear his mind were eating at him relentlessly.

It was that stupid boy's fault, he concluded sourly.

He didn't really realize what he was doing until he felt his own cool fingers running over the side of his face, pushing back golden strands to gently press his palm against his cheek, feeling the tender, uneven surface beneath.

Mello bit his lower lip in irritation, staring at the wall though his fingers.

Revulsion. Disgust.

It seemed almost every time he walked into a public area, everybody's eyes were glued to the damaged left side of the blonde's face.

His fist clenched on the table and he suddenly swung his long legs down, sliding off the chair with a feral growl.

He had sworn to himself to forget about it, but it was getting so goddam annoying to see all those people looking at him like that. And the airport...

Goddamit, he didn't even want to think about that. There were _children_ at the airport. He loathed children.

They always stared the most

"Matt!" he barked, storming up behind the brunette like the bearer of the apocalypse, right hand still clasped firmly over his face. "Are you done yet?"

This, Matt decided, was precisely what he'd known would happen. They hadn't even reached Near yet and already Mello was getting into one of his moods.

And of course, as usual, Matt would be the one to take the brunt of Mello's anger.

It was funny, or maybe just ironic. Matt found himself hating Near just as much as his blonde haired friend, but for different reasons entirely. After all, if it weren't for the bothersome white haired boy, he and his best friend would probably get along a hell of a lot better. Though inside the gamer knew whom the fault truly lay with.

He didn't bother to turn around and face his friend, but rather continued keying,

"Just chill, it's almost done alright?" his voice was flat, concealing the pocket of anger slowly bubbling up inside of him.

It was one thing when Mello made demands of him as a friend. It was another altogether when he made demands of the gamer as though he were nothing but a convenient lackey.

Pressing a few choice keys, he finished up without giving Mello a second glance, knowing that if he did he would probably be met with nothing but the blonde's anger at having been given such a cold response from the brunette.

Unable to stop himself even though he hated it the moment he reacted to the unusually cold tone in his best friend's voice, Mello flinched a little. He stood for a second, frozen and just staring at Matt's striped back for a few seconds, a small twinge of guilt ebbing up into his chest.

Dammit, he'd known this would happen. He was always just so...frustrated.

Ironically, he was frustrated with everything and everyone _but_ Matt. Yet Matt was the only one who was always around.

Azure eyes glanced down at the floor for a few moments, uncertain, but he blurted it out before he could stop himself, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Matt... do you think the children will stare?"

It took him a minute to figure out what Mello was talking about, but as soon as he did, the anger that had begun to swell inside of him was instantly extinguished.

He turned to look at his friend, and saw the raw insecurity plastered on his face, and something inside of Matt cringed. He would take Mello's anger over his uncertainty any day. To see his best friend in that state just made something inside of the gamer ache. It wasn't right.

He knew something must have set the blonde off, most likely something had happened on his outing. He had come in from the cold way more pissed off then when he had left. And while Matt would personally have liked to have a nice chat with whoever it was that had brought this on, the fact of the matter was that it wasn't an option.

Mello was here now, and though he knew the blonde would never admit to it, he needed Matt's reassurance, the gamer knew.

Dammit. How was he supposed to answer a question like that? It wouldn't due to lie, not with Mello, but he couldn't just say 'yes' and walk away.

For a second the gamer seriously considered simply hunting down every damn brat that dared to stare at Mello with so much as a crooked smile and 'explain to them' why staring was not polite. It would never work though, logistically that is, however satisfying the notion was to entertain.

"Maybe they will." He began honestly, hiding the hesitancy he felt, his voice low but somehow strong. He continued on,

"But Mello, maybe they wouldn't if they knew that part of the reason you have that scar in the first place is because you helped to take out the most accomplished serial murderer in the history of mankind."

He reached up and ruffled some of Mello's hair into his face, something he hadn't dared to do since they'd been children, but somehow it seemed the right thing to do at the moment.

"Besides," he added with a smug grin, "I think it makes you look Badass."

For once in his life, Mello seemed momentarily at a loss for words when he suddenly found himself with a mouthful of his own hair and Matt grinning in his face like a frikkin' idiot. Just the way he always had when they were little. Just the smile Mello inwardly waited for when he came home after a long day of constant irritations.

He stumbled backwards a bit, spluttering in mock-anger and doing his best to frown disapprovingly at the gamer's childishness. But instead he found himself smiling slightly, brushing his hair out of his face and instinctively smoothing it back into its perfect bob.

"Badass?" he repeated with a crooked little smirk. Actually, he realized, he was just about as 'badass' as they come, with all his black leather, ninja bike, thick chains and gothic jewelry. He was badass embodied and hell if it wasn't a crapload of a lot better than being a wimpy little kid wearing white pajamas.

"Yeah," he muttered musingly, tapping his nose in his usual 'thinking' habit. "That means the kids'll be scared too shitless to bother me, doesn't it?" He grinned at the thought of terrifying little children. "Yeah, that's fine. Besides, I don't care. Let them admire my badge for defeating Kira, damn ingrates that they are." He nodded in satisfaction, sitting on the couch near the computer, leaving a spot for Matt to show his gratitude, if only in the tiniest way possible.

Matt, whose presence had saved his conscience, his ego, even his life more times than he cared to count. Matt, who was always so reliably, so unfailingly always _there_. Matt, who never judged him no matter what kind of a bastard the blond was being.

Not that he really wanted Matt to know of all these sentimental thoughts, of course. After all, Mello wasn't the type of person to simply thank somebody outright, not that a simple word could ever say anything anyway.

But that's what the pie was for, and the spot beside him on the couch, and the sweater wrapped around him smelling like home.

Mello was sure he had never said the word "friend" to Matt but at that moment he knew he didn't have to.

* * *


	2. Unanticipated

**AN: **Most of this is random drabble: planning, travel, fast food and chocolate shakes... Enjoy anyway.

For Near fans, he will actually show up later, even though he's barely mentioned at first. Be patient.

* * *

Besides the soft clicking of the keyboard as slender, back-polished fingers moved across it, typing quickly and perhaps a little too aggressively, the room was silent, the only light coming from the gently glowing monitors of the two widescreen laptops trailing dozens of wires over the edge of the coffee table.

The pale blond was typing away madly at one, his face illuminated from below in a rather eerie glow made all the more forbidding by the firmly affixed scowl which flickered as new windows popped up bringing changes in the monitor's brightness. A wireless headset was buried underneath the thick mass of golden hair, the microphone peeking out on one side, right next to his mouth where occasionally the blond would give a sour mutter or two and continue banging away at the keyboard.

The other monitor bore a plain white screen sporting the bold Old English font letter N and trailing a wire leading to the headset as well.

Mello glanced down at the corner of the screen where the clock was annoyingly reminding him that it was two in the morning while his body reminded him he hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours. Useless thing, sleep. He had no time for that. He had always hated sitting still and had trouble falling asleep since childhood.

Maybe all those small amounts of caffeine in chocolate bars had built up over time until he was on a constant caffeine high.

Or something.

Tongue flicking out over his half eaten candy bar thoughtfully, Mello ignored the time and opened the new attachment Near had sent him, sorting through the mass amount of passwords and guards to get to the content that would allow them safe and easy passage to New York tomorrow.

Today.

Dammit. Viciously biting into the dwindling Almond Hershey's bar, the blonde's frown deepened, fingers moving ceaselessly upon the keyboard.

Clearance for guns, transportation of his bike, Matt's car, his further arsenal of weapons and explosives. Papers for a new apartment, a free lease, insurance. Fake identification, real identification, secret police identification, all kinds of crap of that sort. All the stupid beaurocratic red tape sort of shit he hated dealing with when working with Near's organization.

Growling some more into the mic, Mello took his hands from the keyboard for a few seconds to crush the plastic chocolate wrapper in aggravation. But just as he was about to hurl it onto the floor, he remembered suddenly that he had made Matt clean earlier and it was stupid to dirty the place again.

So he shoved it under the couch cushion and continued his string of verbal abuse at the one who was actually helping him despite the blonde's eternal state of prickishness, though amazingly the usually raucous vulgar comments that resulted from conversations with his white-haired childhood rival were strikingly absent.

After all, Matt was asleep and the other half of the couch, DS still held loosely in his hand, his goggles pushed up onto the top of his unruly hair, snoring softly in a steady rhythm.

At another time, Mello would have told him to get his lazy ass up and give him some space but today he had merely scooted to the edge after throwing a somewhat moth-eaten blanket over his sleeping comrade.

The clock ticked off another hour but Near still insisted on giving him more and more work, things to wire, papers to fill in, documents and other crap to read so he would be "well-informed" this time around. As if Near hadn't called him earlier that day to tell him to drop the case. As if this had been his plan all along.

Mello gritted his teeth but put up with it silently for once--except for a few muttered 'choice' words and a couple of hissed threats, anyway.

But before he knew it the sun was peeking through the missing chunks in the blinds and he was barely shutting down the hundreds of goddam applications he'd been juggling thanks to that stupid wanna-be albino brat.

He wasn't sure if he fell asleep after he shut off the computers or if dragging his scrawny ass to the bedroom to collapse onto the lumpy mattress for what seemed about an entire minute even counted as anything remotely related to the usual practice of sleep, but overall his only thoughts as he groggily lifted his head off the pillow at the sound of Matt's voice from the kitchen was that whoever thought of the phrase "catch a few winks" had certainly done no such thing and was as full of shit as the person who said "no dessert before dinner."

When his call elicited no response from the bedroom, Matt glanced at the clock and decided he could afford to give Mello another five minutes before he needed to go in and make sure the blonde was up. The brunette frowned slightly in the direction of the bedroom. He had no idea when his friend had gone to bed, but when he'd woken up somewhere around four in the morning, there'd been Mello, sitting in the exact same spot as hours before, and continuing to diligently type away. It was a wonder the blond had even managed to make it to the bed at all.

Taking a short reprieve from the task of packing his things, Matt stepped into the kitchen and began to put a pot of coffee on. From the looks of it, Mello was going to need it, and although obvious he'd gotten more rest then the blonde, he wasn't exactly an early riser himself.

After a few minutes of letting the coffee heat up, he carefully poured a cup into a large ceramic mug, being sure not to fill it up all the way. Once this was done, he grabbed two chocolate bars from the fridge, placed them inside of the mug, and stuck them into the microwave until the machine beeped at him, informing him that his concoction was ready. Pulling the hot mug out of the beeping contraption, he placed it on the table to cool off a little.

Taking another peek at the clock, he knew that if he delayed any more in waking his friend there was a chance they'd miss their flight. He knocked on the already slightly open door with a gloved fist.

"Hey Mello. Time to get up." Then with an afterthought added, "Coffee's on the table." Before proceeding back to finish his packing.

Bleary blue eyes peered over the edge of the bed as Matt came in, bending over his suitcase and systematically cramming in what seemed to be a minimal amount of clothes and a large mass of wires and electronics. Unfortunately, the sight only reminded Mello that he himself had not yet packed and he was forced to push himself out of bed with a massive and utterly dismal groan, too tired to sound angry, the sound mostly just depressed. He sat up, one side of his hair sticking up at an odd angle to give Matt a rather unfocused look, realizing slowly the brunette was gesturing and saying something. Mello blinked, eyes focusing finally with just a little trouble on the object of Matt's rather self-satisfied smile.

"You...packed for me?" he managed finally, half confused. When the hell had Matt even had time for such a thing? Unless he had done it before dinner... Whatever, thinking was not working at the moment.

Pulling himself out of bed with some more disgruntled moans and groans, the blond shuffled barefoot into the kitchen, sniffing the steaming cup waiting for him on the table. He wasn't a huge coffee fan but this thing smelled more like Hershey's than Starbucks so he grabbed it and shuffled back into the bedroom to commence wandering around trying to find articles of non-leather clothing since he vaguely remembered the last time he'd worn his usual outfit on a plane, everybody had assumed he was a terrorist or something.

And somebody had thought he was a woman.

At that thought, finally the familiar annoyed sensation that he had grown so accustomed to constantly lingering in the sidelines started to wake him up and he took a large gulp of the drink, only to gasp and splutter at finding the rest much hotter than the first few sips had seemed.

After that, things pretty much went about as smoothly as ever and Mello was once again energetically raging around attempting to locate his left boot amid the piles of games and collectible figurines Matt had dumped on the bedroom floor to "pack," in the meantime berating the brunette with questions as to precisely what he'd packed into Mello's own bag while managing to look oddly half-mad and grateful at the same time. Then, after much ruckus, as was to be expected, they hurried out of the house and had to speed madly to get to the airport in time.

The blond sat stiffly in his economy seat on American Airlines, his usual sour expression plastered on his face mixed with a sort of greenish tint as the plane quivered and veered upward.

Ugh, he could handle plane rides usually, but Mello absolutely loathed taking off and landing. It was just the sensation of this weird diagonal movement in this trembling and whirring metal death trap that made him the slightest bit uncomfortable, was all. Once they were up and the world was steady again, he was fine but now...

With a grimace, he glanced down into the pocket of the back of the seat in front of him, sincerely hoping he didn't actually have to use the little paper bag he saw sticking slightly out of it betwixt old magazines.

He groaned softly, mumbling, "Why Economy, Matt? First class never shakes this much..."  
Grimacing in response to a particularly violent jerk of the plane, the brunette responded with a brief shrug.

"At least I managed to get window seats." He answered in a rigid voice. While he didn't exactly have any issues with flying, the take off was never his favorite experience of the ride. Having a window seat helped, at least a little.

Matt wasn't too picky about many things, but that was one thing he absolutely insisted on. If he was on an airplane, he had damn well better have a window seat. He couldn't stand the middle seats, being squeezed next to dozens of strangers, rowdy children, sick people hacking all over the place. It was suffocating.

He'd done it once, sat in a middle seat that is. It was when he'd come to LA for the first time, right after he left Wammy's. Ending up sandwiched between a much too friendly overweight woman and an obnoxious whiney child had taught him his lesson. The window seats were two to a row, and even if he did have enough misfortune to get stuck next to someone insufferable, at least he wouldn't be surrounded on all sides.

Just give him a window seat, and his DS and he'd be fine on any trip.

Another jerk made him grip the seat handle before the plane slowly began to even out and he could the feel his breathing regain a steady rhythm.

He pulled two small green pills that he'd stowed in his pocket earlier, and swallowed them. The gamer had never dealt well with pressure changes, and didn't want to give his head or ears a chance to hurt later.

Satisfied that he'd done what he could to prevent later discomfort, he took a minute to stare out the window at the checkerboard world below. It was surprisingly green. He lost interest when the lines of the checkerboard began to blend into everything else, and reached an arm up massage his neck. Mello had the seat closest to the window, and twisting his head around the blonde to get a view made his neck ache.

Though tired before they had taken off, the gamer found himself unable to fall asleep. It wasn't like he didn't want to, but considering the former occupation of his best friend, not to mention everything that had gone down with the Kira case, he'd made it a habit of not falling asleep anywhere where he could be caught off guard. It wasn't like he didn't trust Mello to watch his back, but it was now a habit that couldn't be broken. Besides, and he grinned at the thought, if something _were_ to happen, it would probably be best if he were awake anyway. Mello wasn't always the most rational person, but more the type of person to shoot first and ask questions later. Or more likely shoot first, pistol whip, shoot some more, and then maybe, if he felt like it, ask questions.

Chuckling to himself, the brunette pulled his DS from his carry on pack, and began to diligently do what he did best.

And he'd be damned if was going to let that silver haired, one winged, _freak_, beat him one more time.

Mello stared out the window, his expression still rather tight-lipped and pale, but as the plane reached its desired altitude and stopped shaking so much, he did feel a bit better and began to dig around in the travel bag on the floor between them to pull out a couple chocolate bars which he stowed in the pocket in front of him, taking one for now. He munched on it, watching the ground below grow smaller and thinking how very ridiculous the world looked from up here, like a giant and badly-sewn quilt of greens and browns. Everything seemed so tiny and insignificant, so powerless.

He decided, as the scene began to be obscured by a white misty blanket, that he didn't like it and was glad the clouds had hidden the view that reminded him so unpleasantly of his own fragile humanity.

Somewhere toward the front of the plane, a baby was crying but though it would have usually set him off on a muttered ramble about how much he loathed the sound, Mello almost didn't hear it this time. He didn't know how long he sat staring blankly at the thick white canopy surrounding the plane, carefully mulling over what he had to do when he arrived, listening absently to the soft clicking and beeping of Matt's game. At one point he had a mass of maps and diagrams laid out on his lap, but after a while he began to feel sick again and realized they were landing to switch flights in Texas.

That meant he'd have to suffer another taking-off in a few hours.

Trying not to gag as the plane shuddered and rumbled to a stop, Mello shoved his stuff back into the bag and turned to Matt with a grimace.

They should probably get something to eat, Mello thought vaguely, since --if he remembered correctly-- the next flight was a little over 4 hours, but food sounded incredibly unpleasant right now. Still...

Sounding resigned, the blond questioned tiredly, "How long 'til our next flight?"

Glancing at a wall of clocks, Matt found the one that corresponded to their time zone, then scanned his ticket briefly.

"Looks like we have about an hour and a half."

Great. Just enough time to not do anything at all productive. Just as the thought crossed his mind, his stomach gave a loud growl, causing him to amend his thinking. That is, just enough time to grab a bite to eat.

Sweeping his eyes around the airport, it took him a minute before he found the 'Food Court" sign.

He placed his ticket back securely in the pocket of his jeans before turning to his friend.

He wasn't exactly sure why he did it, and looking back on it, it was kind of a risky thing to do, but one minute he was about to ask Mello if he wanted to get something to eat, and the next second the gamer had asked him something entirely different.

"So, why exactly are we going to New York?"

He regretted the question almost instantly.

Well, damn.

It wasn't as though Matt expected the blonde to shoot him just for asking the question, but he really hadn't meant to ask it. Sure it'd been on his mind since Mello had first asked him to get the tickets, but he thought he'd pushed it far enough to the back of his head so that it wouldn't bother him.

Apparently not.

Gritting his teeth at his own carelessness, he internally cursed himself.

Even if Mello didn't want to answer the question, the worst that could happen was that he could get pissed and tell Matt off. No, the gamer had no problem with that. What he did have a problem with was Mello thinking for one second that Matt didn't trust him. Because he did, he really did. He knew Mello would tell him in time, and as soon as necessary, and he also knew that the blonde had a good reason for going to New York, even if he didn't tell Matt what it was.

Damn his moronic curiosity.

"You know what? Forget I said that. You want to go get something to eat? I'm starving. I really hope they have something good to eat here. I remember this one time I got some food from an airport McDonalds that made me sick for like a week. It was disgusting. Okay, so lets not go to any McDonalds. What are you in the mood for? I bet we could find somewhere with chocolate shakes, though you should really have some substance first."

He prattled on, hoping by some Miracle that Mello would forget his initial question.

The blond gave him a sidelong glance, frowning, but more in a thoughtful than angry way.

"Well, I certainly can't stomach anything greasy right now," he growled. Actually, he wasn't sure he could stomach anything really, but he'd have to try because the thought of suffering through a four-and-a-half hour flight hungry seemed worse. They rode the escalator up toward the food court, debating food choices some more and deciding to split up and meet back at a predetermined table.

Mello wandered around for a bit to settle his stomach, eyeing the neon signs apprehensively. Mostly fast food, and that sounded terrible. He spied an Italian place that seemed okay but then the sushi bar caught his eye and he decided that a bit of rice and fish--cooked probably being best-- was probably the least sickening-sounding option right now.

Balancing the tray on one hand and scowling around at the noisy food court, Mello finally spied the goggled gamer and headed to join him at the table, then proceeded to spread papers with scribbled notes and maps and diagrams all across the table, slumping in his chair as he began to examine them while steadily shoving rice and unagi into his mouth.

"Matt," he mumbled thoughtfully around a bite, never having been one for observing the "no-talking-with-your-mouth-full" rule. He glanced up at the gamer for a moment, then frowned back down at his papers., Matt's earlier question coming to mind. He had held off from telling him on purpose. After all there was no reason for him to get involved but... Perhaps it would be best to tell him the minor details at least. After all, if something were to happen and Matt were completely ignorant, he would probably be rather useless.

Absently tugging at the collar of the black turtleneck he wore, the blond continued without lifting his eyes from the mess of papers on the table, some of which now sported small spots of soy sauce or rice grains.

"I need to get back at the bastards who escaped from me earlier," he declared in a rather malicious tone, "They're planning some bombings of major chemical plants and some factories in the New York area, but most importantly, they left me in the goddam sewers of LA and need to be taught a lesson." Not bothering to explain more in words, Mello shoved a couple of charts of buildings and some scans and profiles at Matt. "You don't really need to get involved," he continued roughly, shooting a glare the gamer's way to prevent him from getting any ideas of whatever sort about interfering in the blonde's personal vendetta. "They're mine."

Matt looked up at Mello's strong gaze, half surprised that his friend had brought up his earlier question, and half having expected it. He _was_ surprised though.

It was not what the former mafia boss had said that made him feel like he'd been socked in the gut, no, it was _how_ he said it. It was the furious determined look on the blonde's face and the cold tone of voice that caught him off guard. They were awfully familiar, and entirely out of place.

He'd never seen them in conjunction with anyone but Near, and right now, they were certainly not directed at the pale faced boy Mello so loved to hate.

No, now they were directed at someone else, someone he didn't know anything about, and he found that damn well unnerving.

Near he could handle, Near he was used to, Near he knew. Near was _safe_. Safe for Mello that is. Mello, Matt knew, though he would never on his life admit it, had some kind of unspoken respect for Near, and regardless of what he said, the gamer knew that given the choice, he would not wish the younger boy dead. A little maimed maybe, but not dead.

But this person, this other person, or persons whoever they might be, had a warrant on their head, and while Matt could care less about some idiot who was likely deserving of every malicious act Mello wished to do to him , he _did_ care about Mello.

If the look on the blonde's face was any indication, Mello wouldn't back down until he felt his vendetta had been fulfilled.

And if Mello hated this person, whoever they might be, _so much_, he was going to handle the situation much in the same fashion as he handled Near.

Recklessly. Recklessly, and over emotionally, and way too heedless of danger.

And _that _scared the hell out of Matt.

If Mello had wanted to keep the gamer out of this, then telling him this much had been a bad idea, because there was no way in _hell _he was going to stay out of it now.

Not that Mello needed to know that.

So when Mello gave him that look that clearly said, 'stay the hell out of this.' And told him not to get involved, the brunette nodded and gave a grunt of confirmation, but, and he swore this to himself, he would do everything he could to watch his best friend's back. He'd just have to find a way of doing it without letting Mello know.

Mello gave a satisfied nod, finishing his food and leaning back in his chair. Perfect. He smiled inwardly. Of course, always the same reliable Matt with that overprotective fire in his eyes that Mello had come to depend on so much, but like hell he was ever going to say it. Good. He knew, of course, exactly what Matt must be thinking. And inwardly, he knew exactly why he'd just given Matt his plans, though of course he would never in all his days acknowledge such weakness aloud.

Not that he planned on needing to be bailed out, of course, the blond reminded himself fiercely. No, but it was still good to know he had a backup plan of sorts.

In a way, he almost felt guilty, knowing he was kind of manipulating Matt. But at the same time, he also realized it wasn't quite the same. No, there was another word for what this was, this silent bond between the two childhood friends, but Mello couldn't quite bring it to mind right now. He didn't really use sentimental words too often, of course...

Lounging back in his seat and putting his ankle up on his knee in a comfortable position that seemed more suited to the couch at home than to a public food court, Mello flashed a sly smirk at the gamer.

"Where's that chocolate shake, Matt?" he demanded, though not harshly. "Or were you lying?"

Content with the knowledge that he would do everything in his power to keep his friend safe, Matt went along with the change of subject, even allowing a small smirk to slide onto his face. It also helped to know that Mello had understood the question was asked out of curiosity, and not a lack of trust in him. Mello knew him better then Matt sometimes thought, He shook his head to himself. Maybe he didn't give the blonde enough credit.

"I spotted a place that sells them over that way." He replied in answer to Mello's chocolate craving, the smirk still present in his voice. He motioned with his arm in the direction of their destination, and rose from the small table where they had been sitting.

Grabbing both of their garbage, he dumped it in a nearby trashcan, and returned to stand at the end of the table.

"We should probably get the shake and then start heading back to the gate. We've still got plenty of time, but It'd be better to get there a least a few minutes early."

The gloves he'd discarded earlier to eat were pulled back on, and he stood waiting for the blonde to join him.

Mello, who had been under the impression he was sending the gamer to fetch him the desired refreshment, looked a little taken aback, then scowling pushed himself up, brushing off his silky black pants.

"Sure," he grumbled out. "Back on the goddam plane we go. How thrilling." The exceedingly bitter, dry sarcasm in his voice made a couple people glance over, but it only took one withering glare in their general direction before the crowd sort of shifted nervously out of the way of the two young men.

The blond followed his companion to the smoothie/shake shop, still wearing the same surly expression which had been keeping the crowd ahead of them parting a bit to let them through, but he seemed to brighten up a tiny bit when Matt handed him the chocolaty drink. Sipping at the thick beverage, Mello contented himself with trailing a little behind Matt toward the gate and peering into the shops as they passed by. Other than a large box of Belgian chocolates that Matt was eventually able to lure him away from, though, nothing of interest caught his eye and they boarded the plane again without happenstance.

Predictably, Mello's calmness disappeared along with the chocolate shake and he was back in his aggressively annoyed mood as soon as they got back on the plane. There was a very short argument over who got the seat closest to the window this time, but Mello quickly won out as Matt had the sense to take back his suggestion that it was probably his turn this time before Mello began to shout.

Mello settled himself in the airplane seat with his general sour expression, hissing under his breath about how small the space was and how his legs weren't comfortable and the seat was hard and countless other complaints as if he weren't the one who had suddenly decided to take the flight. Matt, of course, merely took out his DS and proceeded to pretty much ignore the blonde's usual grumbling.

Eventually, the plane began to rumble and move forward on the runway and Mello's irritated mutters ceased as their ride lifted off the ground.

Regretting he had ever eaten, it took all the blonde's concentration to try to forget he was on a sickeningly shaking metal box of doom, which-- thankfully for those around him-- left no time for him to actually voice all of the curses running through his head. After a while, and after the turbulence had stopped a bit, he settled on staring blankly out the window again and going over his plans for the next day. More like the rough sketches of Near's suggested plans, which he very grudgingly admitted to himself were probably a better starting point than his original "find them and massively kick their asses" idea.

Still, he had worked out most of the details and--despite what most people seemed to believe of his pre-planning abilities--had thought through a possible path of action, including escape routes, methods of apprehension, perhaps even local police involvement. After finding out that the men he sought had rather substantial bounties on their heads, he had concluded with immense satisfaction that after maiming them properly, he would turn them in and gather the hefty sums and then buy himself a chocolate factory. Well, _maybe_ not the last part for now, since there were things like living expenses and gas money to look after as well, he supposed. Although they were rather trivial when compared with buying out Hershey's.

Eventually, delicious thoughts of owning Hershey's or Nestle pushed away strategic planning and the boy's azure eyes began to lose focus, slowly closing as the exhausted blond slipped into much-needed sleep. His slim body slumped gently in his seat and another short wave of turbulence caused his sleeping form to fall a little to the right until his pale face, looking almost shockingly content, was unknowingly nestled in the soft fur decoration on the shoulder of Matt's vest.

Surprised by the sudden weight on his shoulder Matt looked over to see the sleeping form of Mello resting against his left side. He ignored the beeps of his disregarded game as his eyes were inexplicably drawn to his friend's face.

It was funny that someone as coarse and vicious as Mello could look this calm and serene when asleep. The constant scowl that seemed to be permanently etched onto the blonde's face was gone, only to be replaced by a tranquility that it seemed Mello no longer had the ability to produce in his waking hours.

Dragging his eyes away from his friend and to the endless blue skies that flashed past their window, he remembered the days before life was so complicated. Before Mello stopped smiling, and before Matt shut himself away from the real world. Before a psychotic teenager decided to play God, and kill their hero. Before the two friends were separated for an entire six years.

Back to when they had still been children living a simple life and going to school. Yes, perhaps their childhood hadn't exactly been normal or what one would call simple, what with the two of them being abnormally intelligent orphans enrolled in a school where being number one meant succeeding the greatest detective known to the world, but even then, life had been so much less complicated then it was now.

It may not have been perfect, but it was good. They laughed, they cried, they didn't spend weeks trying to right the wrongs of the world. It was a selfish thought, Matt knew, but it was how he felt. After all, he'd never really been into the whole 'succeed L' thing. No doubt he'd admired the guy just like every other kid at the orphanage. L was a hero, he was _their_ hero. And while the rest of the world knew his name and reputation, the kids of Wammy's knew him, and though they knew of his amazing deductive skills, and brilliant mind, to him, he was not L the genius. No, he was L, the teenager with messy hair, and big curious eyes that always came to visit. L who talked to them about things like what kind of cookies were the best, and how the economy of Japan looked to be doing. L who _understood _them.

Certainly Matt idolized him like everyone else.

He just didn't want to _be_ him.

He wanted to be Matt, He'd already given up on being Mail Jeeves.

But he'd never thought being Matt would be so _stressful_. Though he guessed, that was probably just a part of growing up. Even if he and Mello had been 'normal', they still would have had to face the real world sooner or later, if only to a lesser extent.

Still he couldn't help but wish for the more pleasant times of their childhood. He missed it. He missed L and Watari, and he missed Roger, hell, he even missed Near. Then again, he didn't really hate Near, so much as he hated what the younger boy did to Mello. There had even been a brief time shortly after he had arrived at Wammy's, and before Mello had come when the gamer had even considered Near his friend.

At the time they had been numbers one and two after all.

He glanced at the blonde sleeping silently at his side and gave a wistful smile.

Then Mello had come and changed everything.

He wondered for a second, as he watched the steady rise and fall of Mello's breathing, what it would have been like if the three of them had gotten along, Matt, Mello, and Near that is. If instead of being the two of them, they had been one complete team of three. He tried to picture it, but couldn't. The idea was probably too foreign even for his own imagination to ponder.

He did wonder though, if he'd reached out to Near, if he'd really tried to be his friend, if perhaps things would have been different. If Near would have been different. Near was just so…closed off. It was like the white haired boy was broken. It wasn't unusual or anything, they were orphans after all. Half of the children that came to Wammy's were broken. But with Near, Matt couldn't help but feel like he was silently calling out for help.

And while Matt in no way felt responsible it just bothered him knowing that maybe he could have made a difference. Then again maybe he was giving himself too much credit.

It was how he'd felt Near was as a child of course, not anymore. The crying voice had been silenced long ago, before it had ever even been vocalized.

Matt laughed at the direction his thoughts had taken him in.

He was pretty sure if he had been normal he would have ended up a teacher or youth counselor or something. Despite his lack of interest in saving the world, he seemed to have some kind of weakness when it came to wanting to help kids. Because Near had been a kid when all of that happened, and really he still was.

Matt realized he'd been lost in thought for longer then he'd expected when he felt the downwards tug of the plane beginning its descent. Bracing himself, he gently steadied Mello's body with his arm, knowing how much the blonde hated landing, and hoping he would have the luxury of sleeping through it. It was only when all of the plane's wheels hit the ground and began to coast that he nudged Mello gently in the side and informed him of their arrival.

Eyes the color of the clear sky outside fluttered open slowly. The blond didn't move for at few moments, blinking groggily in the light, clearly not understanding at first where in the world he even was. Hell, the last he remembered, he had been the proud owner of all the world's chocolate industry...

After a few seconds though, Mello became aware of something soft and warm propping him up and sat up in alarm. "Shit, I fell asleep!" he realized, blinking at Matt in slight confusion. _...wait... no way._ Glaring in the opposite direction quickly, the blond began rummaging under his seat for the travel bag. He had barely had time to realize it, but now he was sure. He'd fallen asleep. On Matt. What the hell?

Not that he thought Matt minded particularly, it was just that... He hadn't really done that in a long time. In a VERY long time. Not since they were very young and at the orphanage when they used to sit around drawing or playing games and then as the evening wore on, one of them would usually end up pretty much passing out on the other in happy exhaustion.

But those days were long gone. Mello had basically avoided much human contact since then. Even with Matt.

True, they were forced to share a bed occasionally, but never actually _touched_. It was incredibly strange and almost awkward thinking about it. Sometimes they fought and punched. Sometimes they even slapped each other on the back in congratulations or encouragement. But it had been a very long time since Mello had been able to relax like that, especially in a public place. Usually, if he slept anywhere other than his own bed, it was only a worrisome half-sleep full of uncertainty and visions of enemies lurking in the shadows, guns glinting ominously.

But now, Mello realized slowly as he pretended to be organizing his papers while they waited for the crowd leaving the airplane to thin, this time, he had actually had... a pleasant dream. Those didn't happen often. Certainly not when he never should've let himself fall asleep in the first place! He had so much work to do still and who knows what kind of people could've been on that plane with them, and there he was, frikkin' sleeping like some little kid.

Appalled, he realized suddenly he might've even drooled on Matt!

And then, for the first time in what seemed like forever, the blond burst out laughing, and not the usual barking, sarcastic laugh of recent years. For the first time in ages, he actually found himself incredibly and sincerely amused and just snickered softly as he shoved the papers back in his bag.

The thought, alien at first, now seemed so very reasonable. After all, if he were going to fall asleep anywhere, there was nobody else he could ever do so in the presence of. There was only one person he trusted unconditionally to watch his back no matter what.

And, with a lopsided little smile as he glanced out the window and across the runway toward New York City, Mello realized he had remembered the word which had escaped him at lunch.

The word he was trying to think of earlier when he had seen that protective fire in Matt's eyes and had known that no matter how badly he screwed up, the brunette would always be there to save his sorry ass.

_Trust_.

He could always trust Matt to pull him from the flames.

Standing up and shouldering the travel bag, Mello proffered a black nail-polished hand toward the boy who had never failed come to save him from the wreckage of his own recklessness.

Matt wasn't sure which surprised him more, the sound of Mello's honest and unburdened laugh, a sound it seemed he hadn't heard in years, or the hand now held out, waiting for him to take. He also wasn't sure which of the abnormalities caused him to break out into a full on grin, but grin he did, as he grasped the blonde's hand and allowed Mello to help him to his feet.

It was as he stood there grinning like a fool, and trying to decipher exactly what had happened to Mello to make him so, well, so _happy_, when the thought hit him.

Maybe, things could get better.

He released Mello's hand as he grabbed his own belongings above the seat, and the two began to make their way out of the plane, and out of the airport.

Stupid as it was, the idea had never occurred to him, that perhaps the way they were now, the way they had been left after the Kira case, well maybe it wasn't as permanent as he thought. Maybe they could heal, and move on with their lives.

The more he thought about it, the more it became obvious, and he wondered when on Earth he had become so pessimistic as to believe that things could never change. Perhaps his wish for the happiness of their youth wasn't completely in vain.

Yes, of course it wasn't.

Mello had laughed. Not the cruel malicious laugh of recent years, but the authentic and genuine laugh of someone happy. If the blonde was still capable of such an honest laugh, then of course things would get better.

Of course it would take time. They would not wake one day to find themselves rid of the scars of the Kira case or the shadows of their pasts, but they could slowly, and together, overcome it.

And as long as Matt could hear Mello laugh like he had just a minute ago, he didn't doubt it could happen.

There was evidence enough in the warmth radiating off of his hand, despite the cold weather into which the duo had emerged.

Stopping as they came to the curb of the airport, he turned to Mello, maniacal grin still plastered onto his face.

"So, where to?" he asked, genuine curiosity evident in his voice seeing as he honestly had no clue as to where they were headed.

The dark-clad youth gave a small start, apparently having completely forgotten what he was supposed to be doing here in the first place and began to rummage around in his pockets.

"I had an address somewhere," he muttered, finally procuring a wrinkled wad of notebook paper from his pants. "It's an apartment owned by the SPK so they're paying our rent." That last part was still growled through gritted teeth, but didn't seem nearly as malicious as such a sentence may have at other times. Apparently, even Mello, who professed to hate Near more than anything else in the world, could grudgingly admit some small inkling of appreciation, if only by keeping his voice down where usually he would've probably shouted.

"So... guess we'll get a taxi then," he mused aloud. "The bastard should be sending our vehicles by tomorrow morning, probably sometime during the night. A taxi driver would certainly know the place better too," he admitted, leading toward the pick-up area where a line of yellow cars stood waiting for potential customers. He glanced at the darkening horizon with a small frown. "Damn time difference," he mumbled, breath misting in the winter air. "And goddam cold!" he added, rubbing his hands together briskly and heading to the nearest empty yellow taxi, the sharp clicking of his boot heels against the concrete punctuating some more muttered curses toward the biting evening breeze.

Mello dived immediately into the front seat of the heated interior of the taxi, showing his winkled little paper to the driver while Matt was left to load their bags and suitcases and then slide into the back seat silently. The blond gave him a glance as if to make sure he was safely in, then haughtily ordered the driver to go.

The ride took about half an hour, which could have been disastrous had Mello remembered he didn't particularly like car rides or small spaces, but as soon as the car had pulled out of the parking lot and gotten on a large road lined with silver, ice-covered trees and fields blanketed with snow, the blonde's eyes were glued to the window. Having lived in Southern California for the last few years, it had been a very long time since he'd last seen snow and he found the sight rather pleasant, at least as long as he was out of the unfamiliar cold now.

Other than one or two instances where Mello had gotten angry other stupid cars on the road and tried to do some side-seat driving, much to the apparent annoyance of the taxi man, the ride went without occurrence and they arrived at a decent-looking apartment block in Manhattan. While Matt made sure to pay the driver--and give him a rather weighty tip for putting up with Mello's road rage-- the blond boy set about unloading and dumping their stuff on the curb, his energetic manner probably inspired by a sincere wish to get the hell out of the cold as soon as possible.

Leaving Matt with to tend the bags in the front desk lobby, he disappeared in the manager's office for a short while. Some sort of minor altercation drifted through the door, but eventually Mello returned with a key for each of them and a satisfied smirk. The manager, though only very slightingly connected with Near, came slinking out and disappeared somewhere in the back of the building to recover from the shock of Near's most aggressive rival storming into his office to demand information on all of the white haired boy's "schemes" regarding this place.

Pale face still a little flushed from the cold, Mello led the way to the elevators, muttering the number of the room to himself so as not to forget, and held the door open for Matt--loaded like a pack mule with everything but the small travel bag Mello was still shouldering-- to slip through.

Happy to give his arms a break, Matt gratefully unloaded his burden onto the pale apartment carpeting.

Giving their temporary home a once-over, the brunette quickly came to realize that Near had spared no expenses when it came to what the two would be needing for their investigation, or rather, Mello's investigation. Though, despite the blonde's reluctance to get the gamer involved, Matt knew that Mello would still be requiring his help when it came to any kind of hacking or video surveillance. Near obviously figured this out as well, as was shown by the three computers already set up on a short desk, as well as two that remained on the floor, and one laptop that sat neatly on their new bed. Under the desk of the three computers Matt could also see the familiar forms of a port scanner and a root kit.

Well, he was impressed. It seemed he wouldn't need to go out and buy too much in order to get their systems up and ready.

He flopped down lazily onto the bed but cringed when the feel of his head meeting the pillow aroused a dull ache. Sighing, and rubbing his temple with one hand, he realized he hadn't had a smoke in more then twenty fours hours. Certainly something he had done before, but not exactly a pleasant experience.

Reaching a hand into his pocket for a much-needed cigarette, he was dismayed and upset to remember he had none left. He frowned, annoyed at his stupidity to have forgotten to buy a new pack. He resigned himself to go out as soon as Mello deemed they were settled in enough, and sighed wearily as the mere knowledge that he would not be relieving his cravings for at least a few hours just seemed to make his head hurt all the more.

Reluctantly sitting up, and feeling the throbbing in his head worsen a bit more, he ignored the pain and began the time consuming task of setting up their computer system. He glanced up at Mello out of the corner of his eye as he began untangling multicolored wires and hooking them up to the various machines.

"Hey, you mind if when I'm done with this, I head out for a bit?"

The slim blond glanced over for a second from the large metal cabinet he was rummaging through at the back end of the living room, hefting a .33 Tokarev in his right hand, testing weight and balance. He gave a noncommittal grunt and shrug, then disappeared again into the fully-stocked weapons arsenal, trying not to let himself remember who had provided it... and how he was just letting himself be used by the little bastard who was living his life as goddam 'new L.'

Resisting--with some difficulty--the urge to let loose the loaded cartridge into the nearest piece of furniture, threw the gun back onto its rack and continued checking the others in a rather aggressive manner with much clattering and banging of metal.

"Turn the heater on, Matt," he barked, suddenly noticing the cold as he scowled at the .45 in his hand. "And when you go out," he added in an undertone, "Make sure to get me chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate."

Maybe that would put his mood swings to rest for a little bit at least, he thought dryly.

Hopefully.

Probably not.

Not as long as he was living under a roof provided by the person he hated most in the world. Hell, it hadn't even been an hour since their arrival, and he was already regretting this. How could he just let himself be used by Near like this? Even if the younger boy was 'helping' them, he was helping them help him...

But still... Ugh! Goddam conscience! What a troublesome thing, this stupid guilty feeling as if he owed the world something, as if it was his duty to capture criminals in some lame-ass attempt to maybe, in a twisted, farfetched way, redeem himself or atone or _something_...

Unable to suppress the need to let the overwhelming frustration out in some sort of violent manner, Mello suddenly twisted around to kick the metal cabinet as hard as he could with the bottom of his right boot, the heel leaving a satisfyingly deep dent in the metallic surface.

"Shit, you know what, Matt?" he growled out, clenching his fists at his sides to prevent himself for reaching into the weapons cabinet and taking out his frustration on his surroundings. "Go get me that chocolate _now_."

Matt didn't question, just grabbed his wallet and was gone. Even if he hadn't had a massive headache from nicotine withdrawals, the tone of Mello's voice was more then enough motivation to get him out of the apartment as quickly as possible.

As he left the apartment he closed the door gently, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to himself. Especially since Mello had been inspecting his newly acquired arsenal.

Checking his pocket to make sure he had remembered his key, he began to make his way towards the apartment complex exit when he realized he had no idea where to go

He stood in thought for a minute trying to decide what to do. The idea of walking around a few blocks and getting to know the place didn't sound too bad until he remembered the temperature outside. Probably not the kind of weather conducive to his meager jeans and thin gray long sleeve shirt. (He had discarded his usual vest when he'd begun to wire the computers and forgotten to put it back on in his hurry out the door) Even inside the building he could begin to feel the cold seep through the thin fabric.

Veering in the opposite direction, the gamer made his way to where he remembered the front desk to be. When no one appeared to be there he rung the tiny gold bell and waited. For one minute. Then two. Then five.

"Hey, Excuse me?" he shouted in the direction of the office behind the front desk, irritation evident in his voice.

After some noises of shuffling and another minute, a middle aged man finally appeared behind the desk. It seemed he was quite flustered and somewhat annoyed to have been disturbed.

"Yes?" The clerk voiced with undisguised annoyance written across his sagging face.

Matt grinned brightly at the clerk, completely aware of the man's sour mood, and reveling in it. He really hated people who were rude for no reason. They just pissed him off. With a somewhat downcast outlook, he realized it was going to take a while to get used to the new level of rudeness that New York's reputation so proudly claimed. So far they were living up to it.

He opened his mouth to ask where the nearest market was, but stopped short. Initially his plan had been to ask directions, but now that he had obviously annoyed the guy, he figured it might just be safer to ask for a map, and changed his question accordingly.

Map acquired, he was lucky enough to find another guest in the lobby able to point him in the right direction. As it turned out there was a 7-11 not too far away. Thanking the guest who had helped him, he made his way out of the door and was immediately assaulted with a gust of icy cold wind.

Cursing his memory to have forgotten to bring a jacket with him downstairs (It was New York for God's sake!) but not wanting to risk Mello's anger if he returned to the room without said blonde's chocolate, he trudged onwards, glad at least that his boots were water resistant, or in this case actually snow resistant.

It took only five minutes for him to make his way to the convenience store, but for all his body warmth said, it had felt like hours. Stepping into the warmth of the heated store he pulled off his gloves and tried desperately to rub some feeling back into his frozen fingers.

Well, he was sure he would never EVER forget his jacket again. He didn't even bother to figure out which chocolate Mello wanted, instead grabbing about five of each kind and ending up with a grand total of thirty something chocolate bars.

He grabbed a few packs of cigarettes, enough to last him the rest of the week (assuming Mello didn't do anything to almost get himself killed, in which case he could consume the same amount in only a few hours) and made his way to the register.

He ignored the look the cashier gave him, what with his cigarettes and thirty-seven bars of chocolate. He paid and stopped in front of the store exit, savoring his last few seconds of heat before plunging back into the below zero weather outdoors.

The way back was faster, probably because he half ran.

Damn. He really didn't want to get sick, but he could already feel himself shivering.

Glad for his good memory (well, when it came to some things…) he recognized the apartment building and sprinted the rest of the way, only stopping to stand just outside of their door. Waiting a few minutes to catch his breath, he graciously lit up one of his newly purchased cigarettes and sighed in relief as the familiar taste put his mind somewhat at ease. As he opened the door and walked in, he prayed that Mello either wouldn't notice or wouldn't, for once, care about the smoke. Matt really didn't want to smoke outside,

He temporarily pulled the addiction from his lips, not exactly trying to hide it, but not wanting it to be in his mouth when he spoke, and informed Mello that his chocolate was on the table, before making his way back to his earlier spot on the bed, and pulling one of the blankets up over his legs.

If he wanted to be any help to Mello, he definitely could not afford to get sick, and judging from the way his hands were still shaking from the cold, he hadn't exactly gotten off to a great start.

The blonde took a second to disentangle his limbs from the mass of wires protruding from the computers and other electronics he'd surrounded himself with and sprang up, making a mad dash for the table and tearing open the first cold little rectangle his fingers reached. The raw frustration and anger simmering in the pit of his stomach seemed to subside a little as the chocolate bar met his sharp front teeth and its demise and Mello sighed, turning his gaze back toward the living room floor. In the short time it had taken Matt to run his errand, Mello had managed to cover most of the floor with maps and charts. There were also a few suspiciously boot-shaped marks on the wall and a couple of semi-automatics spread out ominously on the kitchen table in varying states of disassembly.

Skulking back toward his 'workspace,' the blonde stole some pillows off the couch to make himself more comfortable when he plopped back down into the Mello-shaped clear spot amid the paperwork, munching on his chocolate with a semi-satisfied little smirk.

For a moment he wondered where the hell Matt had gotten to, but that thought was quickly forgotten. He had his chocolate now, plus a few hours' sleep, and his mind was working much better finally. He had the info and the intelligence, now he just had to put them to use.

It didn't take as long as he'd thought. Granted, he was just double-checking everything he'd already worked out last night, but it still surprised Mello how much more productive a bar of chocolate had made him. Well, at least that's what he was going to attribute this to. Certainly it wasn't Near's input or his scouts and maps and times.

Checking the corner where the computer's watch always portrayed the time, the blond realized it was getting pretty late. New York time, anyway. His stomach grumbled in response to the hour, even though it was technically supposed to be early evening. Stupid time difference.

"Matt!" he called, propping himself up on his elbows to look around from his position laying on his stomach in the middle of the living room. "Did you get anything for dinner?"

There was no answer and the blonde frowned, sitting up. He could've sworn the brunette hadn't left again. Probably had his stupid headphones on, letting those damn games rot his brain again.

"Yo, Matt!" Mello called again, a note of impatience in his voice. "Get your ass out here!"

Sitting up at the sound of his name, Matt groaned as the world seemed to come rushing up to meet him. He steadied himself with a hand against the bed and after a minute of confusion realized he'd just been asleep.

Damn, he hadn't meant to fall asleep, he'd just wanted to get some rest, not to mention warmth from the covers of the bed. Glancing at the clock and gawking at the time before he remembered the time difference, he realized he had no clue how long he had been asleep. He hadn't thought to check the clock before, and a combination of jet lag and being out in the cold had him too disoriented to distinguish for himself. For all he knew it could have been anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours.

Holding his hand out in front of himself he was pleased to see that he had stopped shaking, and sprung from the bed with a stretch.

Only to have to catch himself when a wave of dizziness caused him to nearly keel over onto the floor.

Ughhh. So maybe he wasn't doing as well as he thought. Now that he stood he could feel a dull throbbing in his head, that had nothing to do with withdrawal systems. Reaching a hand up to massage his temple, he was surprised at the temperature of his skin. Oh well, he had wanted to warm up. It was nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix and he was sure he'd be fine in the morning.

At Mello's second and somewhat more annoyed summons, Matt managed to drag his aching body, (and now that he thought about it, he wondered why it was aching seeing as he hadn't done anything to make it feel that way…) to the door, only having to pause twice in order to orient himself.

He opened the door slowly, and stood there, supporting his body with the door frame and hoping whatever it was that Mello needed didn't require much movement.

Or any at all.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Did you get anything for dinner?" Mello repeated in clipped tones, giving the gamer a disapproving glare. "Jesus, Matt, it's only a three-hour difference... it's only 6 o'clock for us. Why the hell were you sleeping, you lazy ass?"

Matt gave a noncommittal shrug while wracking his brain. Was he supposed to get dinner? Damn, he couldn't remember.

"Just tired, jet lag, you know…" he trailed off. He wanted to make his way to a chair, but was scared that if he left the support of the wall he might not be able to walk straight, and so stayed in his spot.

The blond sat up a little straighter, squinting at his friend and frowning a little. "Jet lag?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow. "That's pretty sad, Matt, if three hours can make you look like that."

He pushed himself to his feet, yawning widely, and resumed frowning at Matt. "Forget it," he growled after a while of the brunette merely blinking at him in a bit of a confused fashion. "I'll go. Jesus, Matt, are you hung over?"

Despite the fuzziness in his head, Matt snorted.

"Right, Mello, and when exactly would I have had the time to get wasted?" He had, after all been with the blonde for the last twenty four hours straight. No time for getting sloshed in between.

He did his best to walk over to a chair without falling down, and did surprisingly well. He sank down into the chair gratefully and lay his head down in his arms, wishing he were in bed.

Mello eyed him warily as he tugged on his thick leather jacket and gloves, the annoyance in his blue eyes slowly being replaced by something vaguely reminiscent of concern.

"Hey, Matt, are you ok?" he called, peering at the gamer from the kitchen where he had decided to grab a chocolate bar for the trip. "You look like shit. Did the airport crap-food get to you again?"

When there was no response, the blonde edged closer, the look in his eyes becoming one of definitive worry. "Matt? Hey, look at me when I talk to you, you bastard. Where's the nearest place we can get some food?"

The gamer lifted his head to meet Mello with weary eyes. Ugghh. He really hadn't wanted to get sick, but he knew that the spinning sensation in his head was due to a fever. He grumbled curses at himself before answering his friend's question.

"There's a Seven-Eleven about three blocks east of here, and I vaguely remember seeing some fast food place in that direction. I think it was something to do with burgers."

As an after thought he added with an ironic smile, "And Mello, if you're planning on walking, wear a jacket. It's kinda cold." He then promptly allowed his head to thunk onto the table once again, hoping to drag himself to the bedroom after Mello had gone.

He was pretty sure whatever he had would go away after a good night's sleep, and he intended to get as much rest as possible.

"Well, duh, Matt," the blonde snapped, zipping the jacket he was already wearing. "Any idiot would figure to wear a jacket when it's goddam snowing outside!" He prodded Matt in the arm. He frowned suspiciously, suddenly understanding the note of sarcasm in that last comment. "Hey, don't tell me... Aw, shit, Matt! You _dumbass_!"

Mello sighed, shaking his head at the sheer idiocy. "You picked a hell of a time to be sick, you jerk," he growled out. _What if I need you tomorrow?_ But he didn't voice that last part and merely let another sigh escape his pale lips, tossing the chocolate bar down onto the table by Matt's head.

"That'll make you feel better until I can get you some Tylenol," he grumbled. After all, it always made _him_ feel better no matter how shitty he was feeling. "Fing dumbass," Mello repeated, turning away. "I'll be back in a few minutes, got it? I'm locking the door." _Yeah, as if it matters._ Still, he felt as if it was something he should say when Matt was looking so... defenseless.

Though he was sure Mello hadn't wanted him to hear the slight worry in his voice, Matt heard it anyway, and it made him want even more to get over this stupid fever.

He remembered the blonde's words about his timing, and sighed into his arms. Mello was right. They'd just gotten to New York, and Matt was sure Mello was going to start on his case the next day. Recalling his thoughts from the airport, the brunette growled a little in frustration. He had to be in condition to help if something went wrong.

With these thoughts passing through his head, he wasted no time in sitting up and dragging himself to the bedroom and burying himself under the comforter on the bed. Hopefully, with any luck, he'd be doing better in the morning.


	3. Unspoken

**AN:** Just to let everyone know, I'm going to try to update chapters weekly on Friday evenings.

Thanks to all the readers so far and please be aware that reviews are very much welcome and appreciated! Be it a kind comment, question/suggestion, or criticism, it's good to know what readers think works well or could be better. Thanks again and enjoy!

* * *

Mello kicked at the dirty snow piled up on the sides of the street, pouting and burying his face in his turtleneck to ward off the cold.

What the _hell_ was wrong with Matt!? Coming out here wearing only his shirt and jeans as if they were still in SoCal! Hell, Mello had figured even stupid number 3 was smarter than that!

Watching his breath fog in front of him with a frown, the blond walked briskly down the nearly-empty sidewalk. Of course, he had also noticed the lingering smell of smoke in the bedroom. Dammit, Matt was always making bad health choices! He was seriously going to get himself lung cancer or pneumonia one of these days and keel over. Not as if Mello had room to talk, but honestly, at least if he was dying anytime soon, it'd be by an enemy bullet and not his own stupid choices to drink and smoke and walk around in below-zero weather wearing Southern California clothing.

Honestly, Mello thought exasperatedly, couldn't Matt take better care of himself? It was nearly a miracle he'd survived this long, and all those years on his own too, filling his lungs with tar and getting wasted when he felt like it probably, playing those stupid mindless games that were surely ruining his eyes and slowly eating his brain. Maybe he'd get thumb arthritis, too... or something. Carpal tunnel, probably.

Stupid Matt.

Scowling, Mello shoved open the door to the Carl's Jr. a few blocks from the apartment, ramming his shoulder into it with unnecessary force.

Well, he wasn't Matt's goddam mother, and he wasn't about to start worrying unduly like some frikkin' schoolgirl or anything, but honestly, if the stupid gaming, smoking, weather-oblivious geek kept at it...

Hell, he'd never, ever admit it aloud, but the blonde knew that even the thought of losing the only person in this world whom he trusted--the only person who put up with his eccentric habits and moody bullshit-- scared the hell out of him.

Glaring intently at the menu with his hands shoved deep in the warmth of his jacket pockets, Mello wracked his brain to remember when the last time he'd had Carl's Jr. was and which of these disgusting options was the least awful. Matt, of course, usually loved this kind of greasy shit.

Finally, the blonde settled on a decently harmless-looking grilled chicken sandwich, and whatever the signature burger of this place was for Matt. Famous Star something-or-other. With fries. The name made him snicker as he waited for his order.

As an afterthought, he went back to the counter to order a salad for himself, suddenly not in the mood for sandwiches. He'd had his fill of grease with all that fried chicken back in LA. Mello's appetite was as volatile as his moods, and thus he could be a hell of a picky eater most of the time. Besides, he had his slim and sexy figure to keep up, he thought absently with another snicker. Though it wasn't as if his 'exciting' lifestyle was about to let him laze around and get fat, no matter how many cocoa-based sweets he consumed daily.

Which reminded him to get some chocolate cheesecake too. And some cookies. For Matt. He was _fairly_ sure Matt liked cookies, anyway. Maybe.

Well, _he_ liked cookies, so at least they wouldn't go uneaten. He'd need as much sugar as possible for tomorrow anyway.

Finally satisfied with his purchase, Mello slung the warm plastic bag over his shoulder in somewhat of a better mood and headed briskly toward the 7/11 across the street, only frowning briefly to flip off a car stopped in the middle of the frikkin' crosswalk, but managing not to get too angry. It was far too cold for that.

Diving into the heated gas station mini-mart and grumbling about not having his bike yet, the blonde weaved around the cramped aisles until he found the makeshift pharmacy section.

"Something for a fever," he mumbled to himself, tapping his bottom lip with a leather-gloved finger and scanning his options critically. Finally, he grabbed some Tylenol in both liquid and pill forms and some Aspirin just in case, and sauntered up to the counter to pay. Almost as an afterthought, and even though he had a bagful of chocolates at the apartment, he grabbed a handful of the Crunch bars conveniently lined up underneath the counter. Shooting the critical cashier a--purposefully--rather creepy grin, he darkly relished the unnerved looks the poor girl gave him before gathering up his purchases and change and turning back to brave the cold once more.

It didn't take him long to get back at the rather quick pace he was walking at, cradling the still-warm takeout to his chest, and he noticed with a sudden mixed feeling of relief, happiness, and resentment that his bike and Matt's red car were parked in the apartment parking lot. Well, he wasn't about to start complaining to the cold night air about who had had them brought here, so he contented himself with an ominous glare into the darkness beyond the vehicles and he tried to enter the apartment quietly--probably for the first time in his life. Spreading the plethora of medicine on the counter, Mello also set the table quickly, looking rather self-satisfied and failing to remember the last time he'd actually done anything of the sort.

Finally, he figured it was time to creep into the bedroom and prod the gamer awake. He was feeling exceptionally kind at the moment, and thus only shook his friend's shoulder gently. "Matt? Dinner's on the table," he informed the other male softly. But of course, even in one of his kinder moods, Mello didn't skip the insults. "Get up, you lazy ass."

Grumbling and fighting the urge to flip over and wrap his comforter tighter around himself, the gamer slowly dragged himself into consciousness at Mello's words. He glared through bleary eyes at the clock on the dresser, but finally gave up trying to decipher the small red numbers, deciding them much too far away.

He had really wanted to just sleep until the morning, and then some, but before he even had the time to protest this, he caught the heavenly scent of whatever it was that Mello had bought, and that plan went out the window, bought a cab to the airport, and left on a jet, far, far away.

It smelled like grease, and fat, and imitation meat, and everything else that made fast food fast food.

_God,_ it smelled delicious.

Sitting up, he groped for his goggles on the nightstand beside the bed, and slipped them onto his head in their rightful place out of habit.

Goggles now in place, and feeling a little more awake he sent a grateful smile in the direction of the older boy, barely preventing himself from salivating on the spot as the aroma of the food became stronger to his senses, only to discover that the blonde had disappeared back into the other room.

He placed his feet cautiously on the ground at the edge of his bed, but before standing took a quick check of his state of health, not wanting to end up half crumpled like the last time he'd gotten up. Amazingly enough, his head actually felt a hell of a lot more clear then it had earlier, and, he realized, even his thoughts were more coherent.

The wonders of sleep. Even if he had only been out for a little more then an hour, he was already feeling better. Of course, he knew, one hour's sleep was by no means enough to cure his ailment completely, still, it was reassuring to know he was already feeling back to his normal self. But, and he realized with some humor, judging by his unexplainable urge to giggle, he was still feverish, if only a little. He always felt giddy when he got a fever, despite his poor state of being

He really did just need rest though.

Or, you know, a good Hi-Potion. Or white mage.

Damn, where were your Aco's when you really needed them? Hmmm? Probably AFK to go play DnD. Ughh. The losers. He shook his head in disgust at the incompetence of healers. Never there when you actually need them.

As he stood from his cocoon of blankets, and placed a hand on his head to check his temperature, he wondered briefly if Doctor Derek Styles had any good tips for getting well from a fever fast. (Though he was doing much better if the hand on his forehead was any indication.)

He was very tempted to find out, but noted sadly that if Mello were to return to the room and discover Matt playing a game, Matt was pretty sure a, "But Mello! It's like I'm going to the doctor's, without actually having to go!" wasn't going to be sufficient for the testy blonde.

Entertaining as the thought was, he didn't need to be recovering from a fever _and_ being shot.

Besides, his fever had gone down, at least a little.

As he walked into the kitchen and took a seat in one of the chairs, smile in place, and eager for delicious colon killing sustenance, posture a one eighty degree juxtaposition from his earlier pathetic slumped over position, the abandoned chocolate bar on the table caught his eye, and his grin vanished only to be replaced with a much more serene smile.

It wasn't every day Mello went giving away his most prized possession.

He took the candy bar, sliding it into his pocket for later, and waited happily for the blonde to join him at the table.

Mello glanced over from where he was lining up little bottles of pills on the counter and almost let out a cry of protest as he saw a glimpse of a familiar brown wrapper disappearing into the depths of Matt's pocket. But then he stopped himself, remembering suddenly he had had a really stupid burst of kindness earlier. Damn. He'd forgotten.

Shrugging the startled irritation away, the blonde sidled over to the table, slipping into his chair and slouching with his elbows on the table to peer at Matt critically.

"I can't have you sick tomorrow," he announced sharply, cutting to the chase without any fluffy, worrisome 'are you ok' kind of crap. Still staring the brunette down with an odd mixture of irritation and something close to concern, the blond reached for his salad, squeezing some Italian dressing on it from those stupid little bags because he'd forgotten to buy the proper kind in a bottle. "I need you to hack into the Indian Point power plant facilities and turn off the alarms and you can't be half-asleep to do that, I don't give a damn _what_ kind of computer geek you think you are," the blonde continued pointedly and waved an arm toward the makeshift pharmacy he had set up on the counter.

Speaking around mouthfuls of lettuce and whatever obscure fake vegetables were in the damn thing, Mello pointed his plastic fork sternly at the gamer who was currently stuffing his face with a potential heart attack. "So you'd sure as hell better get yourself fixed before tomorrow afternoon, got it, Mr. I'm-gonna-take-a-walk-in-fcking-zero-degree-weather?"

Matt didn't bother to protest the insult, well, couldn't protest it really. It was true after all. Certainly hadn't been one of his brightest moves. Damn, he thought to himself as he realized how stupid he'd been. Matt acts lame. Subtract 20 HP points for stupidity. Hmmm. He'd have to make up the loss somehow. Then again, his INT stats would be sure to rise if he set up whatever it was Mello needed setting up tomorrow. He mentally laughed at his clever plan, but kept himself from voicing the thought aloud, knowing the blonde just wouldn't get it. Well, you know what they say about blondes after all.

At the idea of Mello being a dumb blonde he could not hold in his laughter and covered it up by taking a large swig of his soda, though he ended up giving some kind of choked gargle, reminiscent to a drowning fish. This succeeded in causing Mello to raise an eyebrow, but luckily for Matt, the blonde refrained from asking.

He raised two fingers to his head in a half mocking salute, as a cocky smirk slipped into place to match, and a giddy "yes sir" completed the look.

He was pretty sure he'd be back to his normal self the next day, missing a few precious brain cells perhaps, but feeling better nonetheless. He would just have to be sure not to overdo it in order to avoid a relapse.

As he finished the last couple of fries on his plate his thoughts became a little more serious.

He really would have to be more careful. If something were to go wrong, and he wasn't capable of fixing it…

He tried to stop his thoughts, knowing exactly where they were going, but failed.

And there he was again, the air thick with the smell of burned flesh, and his stomach turning itself inside out while his heart tried frantically to make it out of his throat, twisting and turning and prodding painfully against his chest.

He was running and running and running, but he couldn't see where he was going. The lingering smoke was acid in his eyes, and tear gas in his lungs, still he pushed forward, groping with his hands, not caring as they were torn open by the scraps of sheet metal, still blistering from the flames.

And he was going to fail, going to lose everything because he wasn't good enough and he couldn't find him.

He slammed his hands against the broken shards of metal, punching his way through to the ground.

Never ever in his pathetic existence for a life had he cared about failing as much as he did now.

**He couldn't fail**.

And just when he couldn't take it anymore, when his heart was about to burst through his chest and bleed out of him right there, and his lungs were about to disintegrate from the flames licking them up, the glare of a tiny silver bead caught his eye. He had long since removed his goggles despite the terrible burning. The orange tint had made it too hard to distinguish colors, what with all of the gray and red and black all fading together in an orange world.

First he saw the bead, and then another, and another until he made out the form of a small beaded rosary. But the horror of finding the rosary without its rightful owner was quickly forgotten as he plunged his way through the still aflame ruined building, and saw that the necklace was not on its own, but rather being clutched tightly in an ash-covered fist.

And he was charging through the building now, and everything hurt and he just **COULD NOT FAIL.**

As he rounded a corner of the wreckage and was able to see the rest of the body that clung to the treasured rosary, he wasn't sure exactly whose willpower it was that kept him from breaking right there. There was ash mixed with blood that formed an orange tinted tar puddle that pooled around the limp body lying in the middle of the sludge.

And then he was at his side, and checking for a heartbeat, and watching the painstakingly slow, but still there rise and fall of his best friend's chest. He told himself that it was the smoke that made the tears drop silently from his eyes, and the poisoned air that caused the sob that was forcefully ripped from his throat, and not the sight of the burned flesh that continued to blister and sizzle, or the shards of shrapnel embedded into different parts of the blonde's broken body.

He told himself it wasn't the expression of agony written across Mello's face that made the tears fall faster, as he carefully lifted the excruciatingly limp form of his best friend from the rubble of the destroyed base.

He was alive. But Matt had failed. He never should have let it come to this. Never should have let this happen.

Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.  
The word echoed in his mind like a mantra that he'd forgotten the rest of the words to.

He had failed.

And as he carried his best friend out of the flames, he promised himself next time, if there had to be a next time, he would be there. He would stop it from coming to this.

**HE WOULD NOT FAIL.**

Never again.

His memories were broken when the slurping sound of a straw on ice crashed against his ears. He must have finished his soda without realizing it. He wondered how long he had been making the sound, but didn't really care.

He hated remembering.

But his memories were right. He couldn't afford to be careless, ever. Not if he intended to keep his promise. The giddiness from earlier had fled his eyes in a flash to be replaced by a solemnity not often seen in the brunette.

He wanted to leave. Wanted to just get out, but knew he couldn't. He couldn't afford to worsen his illness.

The only answer he could think of was sleep. It was the only way to get away.

But he didn't want to sleep now. He knew what he would dream of if he went to sleep now.

Cursing at himself for allowing those memories to be rekindled on this of all the nights, one when he desperately needed his rest.

He had to get his mind on something else before he crashed, he just had to.

Without a word he stood, dumping what little was left of his meal (he had long since lost his appetite) into the trash, and glanced about the room, eyes searching wildly for his DS.

Blue eyes followed him silently as the blonde absently licked his plastic spoon to collect the last lingering traces of chocolate from the no longer existent cheesecake. His brow was furrowed slightly and he gnawed on the plasticware, watching with disapproval Matt reach for his DS. The look in the other boy's eyes bothered him deeply for some reason.

He just couldn't place it, that intense gaze, the serious expression Matt's lazy gaming nature was usually so bad at producing.

Why couldn't he remember what it was supposed to mean? It made Mello's skin crawl, in a way. It was unnatural. Matt wasn't the serious type. And he never looked that desperate to find salvation in his game, not unless something really terrible had happened.

_Shit. _Mello berated himself for being stupid. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned tomorrow's mission after all. Matt was probably goddam _worrying_ about him now or something. Cursing inwardly, Mello took a final swig of his Sprite and stood, kicking the trashcan over to the edge of the table so he could get all the plastic and paper and cardboard that came with fast food in one convenient fell swoop.

He considered for a moment telling Matt--who was now sitting on the couch playing some game with the utmost look of a man in need of escape--to turn the damn thing off and go to bed. But for some reason he didn't.

With a small sigh, the blonde scanned the recommended dosage on the Tylenol pills and took the amount in hand, grabbed another soda from the fridge, and set everything down with a soft but decisive thump on the coffee table in front of the brunette.

"You forgot these, moron," he added sharply, making sure to smirk as disparagingly as possible. "I told you to get better. And don't you point to your stupid little health bar or some shit like that. That's it, maybe I should put this in terms you can understand: I'm going to be defeating some boss tomorrow and you are my... something-or-other computer nerd who needs to get his goddam health bar back up and... Well, shit, none of this makes sense does it? Goddam video games," the blonde grumbled, diving for the smaller couch in the well-furnished room and yanking some folders out of the black bag laying abandoned in the middle of the room.

He threw one at Matt.

"Schematics," the blonde explained curtly. "Study those damn well. Times and places I need things done with the lights and alarms are written in a chart on the front page. Study that goddam well too. So, long story made short, Matt," he continued sharply, "Is that starting around 1pm tomorrow I'm going to be counting on you so you had better as hell be rested and not sick. I can do it by myself," he explained with the beginnings of a playful smirk, "But if I don't give you shit to do, your brain will rot and then I'll be stuck living with a mindless zombie chanting about RPGs and Mp3s and God knows what and frankly, I don't want to deal with that."

_Well, fck_. Mello barely prevented himself from frowning in angry confusion. The stupid bastard was giving him that look again. That uncharacteristically determined, intense, and goddam frightening look that was so bloody full of a sentimental something that made Mello want to cringe away from sheer uncertainty of what to do.

Dammit dammit dammit. Why was he being like this? What more did he want? Being an ass to him hadn't worked, what else was the blonde supposed to do?

_Tell him you trust him_.

Hell no, Mello told the sudden unbidden thought in disgust. Like fck something so lame and sentimental was going to come out of his lips.

Even if Matt's eyes were begging for it unwillingly.

Dammit. He understood now, suddenly and with a lurching sensation.

That look in his best friend's eyes, close to worry but not quite. Nearly fear, almost terror. Disappointment. In himself. Insecurity. In his own capabilities.

_Shiiiit_... What was he supposed to do? Standing up quickly and practically racing to the fridge, the blonde tore a chocolate bar out of the bag, demolishing the wrapper in one fluid motion and letting the sweet sensation against him tongue calm him as he stalked, cat like, back to the couch to perch on the backrest.

How to alleviate his best friend's fears? Mello knew it was no big deal, he _knew_ these were petty criminals he could deal with no problem, he _knew_ Matt was the biggest help to him in the world and the only person he would ever let aid him on his missions. He had never imagined Matt would feel so _pressured_, even if he never said it. Mello wondered darkly what had set off this awkward situation. Matt was always thinking far more than he showed it. Perhaps too much.

But perhaps an 'I can handle it' wasn't going to cut it this time.

Still gnawing on his chocolate, Mello glanced over furtively at his friend, who was now leafing through the notebook, never having said a word, the same goddam expression glued to his face.

"You understand it all, don't you?" the blond spoke finally, jerking his head toward the papers. The brunette nodded vaguely, not looking up.

"That's precisely it, Matt," Mello continued softly, tongue flicking out absently over the calming sweet. "You understand. And then you do it. I could never let anyone else even try, because no one else was ranked the third most intelligent guy on the face of the earth and no one else understands my shitty penmanship and even shittier drawings. Only Matt." He fixed his best friend with the most serious, no-bullshit glare he had. _So stop goddam sulking and looking at me like you think you're going to let me down, Matt. Because you're the only person who never will._

"Got it?"

Matt slowly lifted his head, allowing dim green eyes to meet intense blue fire. Swallowing the lump in his throat that had formed for reasons beyond him, he nodded twice before tearing his gaze away, and in doing so snapping the invisible threads that had sprung up between them, temporarily and wordlessly connecting them.

His eyes fell back to the schematics in his hands, but words and numbers blended together when his mind was somewhere else.

It wasn't like he didn't understand Mello's words. He knew the blonde had been trying to reassure him, and to some degree it had worked. Hell, the mere idea of Mello caring enough to even try to reassure him was enough to bring a smile to the gamer's lips.

Though the fact that he'd been trying to be reassuring in the first place showed that he had seen that something was wrong. Mello was a genius, it wasn't as though Matt didn't know that, but sometimes he swore the blonde was even more perceptive then L himself. Then again Mello did have the advantage of understanding human emotion, a quality the late detective had never completely grasped.

Shaking his head, he pushed thoughts of their former mentor out of his mind.

No, it certainly wasn't as though the blonde's words had had no effect on him. It was just that some things could never be fixed, and never be forgotten.

His almost fatal mistake being one of those things.

But, and he was reminded by Mello's blazing glare from only a moment ago, that didn't mean he had to dwell on it. Dwelling on it was about the worst possible thing he could do.

Dwelling led to insecurity, insecurity led to doubt, and doubt led to mistakes. Matt needed to get his head back in the game.

Eyes focusing once again, he re-read the schematics with a newfound vigor, determined to memorize every damn thing he could, and stopping only once to take the medicine Mello had lain out before him.

The blonde gave an approving nod, still relishing his chocolate bar and observing Matt out of the corner of his eye. Something very much like self-satisfaction rose in his chest and he smiled a little behind his candy. Good, Matt seemed better already. It must have been the Tylenol. It worked immediately, apparently.

_Sure, medicine... For a different sort of wound, though..._

Shrugging away the last uncomfortable thoughts his annoyingly over-thinking mind decided to dredge up, the chocolate lover finally stood, having finished his bar, and stretched up with a wide yawn, shooting his wrapper into the trash basketball style.

"Haha, perfect score," he chuckled to himself, stretching his arms behind his back now. He glanced at the time. A little past midnight. Damn, when had it gotten so late?

Peering over Matt's shoulder at his own scrawls for a little while, he ran over the plan again. Despite what he knew _some_ people's popular belief was, he didn't usually _try_ to be a rash idiot. One didn't get to be ranked number one (or perhaps two, he half-amended sourly) at Wammy's through lucky happenstance and impulsiveness alone. Hell, he always had a plan, and charts, and maps and everything else one needed to be fully prepared for acts bordering (if not crossing said border) on illegality. It was just that those plans usually ended up taking on a mind of their own and a fat lot of good it did him to try to stop it.

But at least if there was one thing Mello was good at, it was improvising. In a messy situation, if nothing else, at least he was adaptive. He could count on his instincts as much as his mind, and to tell the truth, he always did.

And now these instincts were cussing at him that if he didn't get to the damn bed right now they were going to be extremely pissed.

Well, it was either instincts or his drooping eyelids, anyway. And the goddam incessant yawning which had apparently concluded now was the opportune moment to attack him.

"Matt," he called decisively, stifling another yawn. "Bed. Now. You need to rest, you useless dolt." His insults lacked the usual sharpness, however, and for Mello it was practically a civil suggestion to get a little sleep. Well, maybe more like a mandate.

"I don't want your sick-germs," he continued loftily, prodding Matt in the thigh with his foot to get him off the couch, "So I'll sleep out here since this couch looks a hell of a lot more comfy than that piece of shit in LA. I mean, this one at least doesn't seem to be missing most of its springs and stuffing or whatever they put in couches to make them soft..."

The underlying message beneath the disparaging comparison between poor Matt's original furniture was, of course, _I'm going to be extra-generous and let you have the real bed._

"Now get off my bed, you lout," the blonde concluded haughtily, pulling the coffee table--and thus the computer and papers--away from the gamer.

Having studied the sheets of paper long enough to be able to recall every single detail at a moment's notice, the gamer wasted no time in complying with his friend's request, only noticing precisely how tired he was when he rose from his comfortable spot on the couch.

He yawned as he turned to go, and threw an awkward half-wave in the direction of the complaining blonde.

He managed an awkward "Night, Mello" through the yawn on his way out.

He was already imagining the soft texture of the comforter waiting in the bedroom when he reached the threshold separating the two rooms and came to a somewhat abrupt stop, something still ebbing at the back of his mind.

Turning slightly, only enough so that he could give Mello a sidelong glance, he spluttered out the words before he could stop himself.

"Hey, Mel?" he began but continued before the blonde could throw something at him, or have a hissy fit about the use of the long discarded nickname.

"Thanks." And then quickly amended his blunt statement with a "for the medicine that is; I mean, that is to say, I feel a little better already."

He didn't wait for a reply, but shuffled the rest of the way into the room, though he left the door between the two rooms open.

Just in case.

Setting the alarm clock on his phone for a decent hour, and collapsing into the welcoming warmth of the bedspread, he let out a long, deep sigh. There would be a lot to think about tomorrow, but for now he just needed his rest. He didn't bother to change, having discarded his rather wet jeans and long sleeve much earlier and swapped for some sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He was barely conscious enough to remember to remove his goggles, and flick of the light, and within a matter of minutes, he was out.

Blue eyes watched the dark rectangle leading to the bedroom with a smile the owner wasn't even aware of, cleaning up a bit and pulling out some pillows and blankets from a cabinet. With a final glance into the doorway, he flicked the light to the kitchen and felt his way back into the living room, following the soft hum of the still-running laptops stowed beneath the coffee table. The blonde boy threw some of the blankets over the cushions and settled himself on the couch, sprawling out as much as the narrow space allowed and pulling one of the covers over his chest.

_Thanks._

Yeah, 'for the medicine,' my ass, Mello thought in mild amusement.

For once, he would let it go. _Mel_. Ridiculous. Matt was too lazy to even say an extra syllable.

The blonde chuckled softly.

Finally, things seemed to be looking up. The Kira case had caused such a huge rift between him and Matt, he didn't want to admit it but there were times he distanced himself on purpose because he had tried to give up on the past. It was not in his nature to be nostalgic. But tonight, he let it go. For this moment, 'Mel' was fine and for now perhaps they could try to be children again, at least for a little bit.

But Mello knew that childhood had been nothing but a dream and he lived a dangerous life, even if he wasn't a wanted criminal anymore. He simply knew no other way. And he also knew that as much as he tried to tell himself it was wrong, Matt would follow him into Hell, and Mello wouldn't do a thing to stop him.

He was just a selfish bastard after all.

And Matt was just a loyal idiot.

A small smile graced the blonde's lips as his thoughts drifted into an incoherent jumble of sunlit memories at a time so long ago when L had been alive and all his hopes and dreams had been whole and shining with promise. A time when it hadn't seemed so very alien to hear a kind word or feel a gentle touch.

And without really meaning to, he let himself repeat the foreign word into the darkness in a gentle, whispering sigh.

_"Thanks..."_

 

It took a while but he eventually became aware of the bright rays of sunlight burning his eyelids and making it uncomfortably hot under the mass of blankets his lanky form had gotten hopelessly entangled in. Mello groaned, trying to turn over.

And wound up on the floor with a yelp and a curse.

The events of last night suddenly crashing down in a blinding whirl of reminiscence (or perhaps because he had hit his head on the coffee table) caused him to cut his would-be rather 'eloquent' string of curses short, however. Matt was still asleep.

Frowning and blinking up at the window as if it had caused him some grievous wrong, the blond managed to sit up finally and disentangle himself from the blankets.

Note to self: _Couch equals narrow_.

No shit, Sherlock.

Guh, his head hurt now. Grumbling under his breath, the blonde staggered toward the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for salvation. 10am was still pretty damn early, after all, and only chocolate could make that at all bearable.

The abrupt and annoyingly high beeping of something in the bedroom made him start however, which unfortunately for the blonde who had his head buried in the fridge also entailed trying to lift it... right into the top edge of the damn door.

Uttering a few hissed choice words, Mello slammed the door shut and raced into the other room, eyes glaring around for the perpetrator. Once he spotted the offensive cell-phone, he grabbed it and jammed a finger into the END button with a snarl.

There was a soft rustle of blankets and he looked up, a bit startled, to see Matt turn over in his sleep.

Mello licked his chocolate in thought. No, it was best not to wake him, he concluded. Best to go about his business without dragging him in unless it was absolutely necessary. After all, that was always his policy, whether he admitted it or not. Matt wasn't cut out for the kinds of things Mello could pull him into, and they both knew it. No, it was best the brunette stayed here by his techie-junk and let Mello do the dirty work. There was no point in bloodying two pairs of hands where one would suffice.

Mello had volunteered to be the sacrifice long ago.

Nibbling his rather unhealthy breakfast with a look of dark reminiscence in his eyes, the blonde tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door carefully to let Matt sleep in peace. He didn't need an alarm.

Tearing through the suitcase he hadn't bothered to fully unpack last night, the former mafia boss tugged on his customary close-fitting black leather pants, snapping shut the large silver cross belt-buckle with a soft click, tucking the bottoms of the legs into his sharp heeled boots. He wandered around for a bit, shirtless, still hot from the sun's earlier attacks, stepping into the bathroom to wash up.

Toweling off his face and neck, the blond stood staring at his reflection in the mirror for a while, tossing the damp towel on the counter with a slight frown.

His lean but well-muscled form was pallid, nearly luminous in the sunlight. Except the never-fading dark blights upon the left half of his face, neck, and shoulder. The mark of his mistake.

Biting his lip, Mello ran his fingertips over the rough skin once, then turned away swiftly. _Don't dwell on it. It's a warning and I'll never let it happen again. I'll never miscalculate again. I'll never have to be rescued again..._

Vague reassurances ran through his mind like a desperate mantra as he tugged on his tight leather vest, zipping it over the incurable skin with a decisive tug of the little silver ring on the zipper pull.

Today would be a brilliant success or he would never let himself live it down, he swore. Especially since this had all been his own damn idea. Stupid, really, but he never backed away from anything he started. He'd see it through, with or without anybody else.

And with Matt at his back if the need arose.

The thought was both comforting and terrible and he turned away with a sour expression, digging through the weapons arsenal with as much vigor as possible without raising too much of a ruckus.

The need would _not _arise.

Finally ready, the blond grabbed his dark biking helmet off the top of the metal cabinet, shouldering a small black backpack of useful things such as charts, extra chocolate, and grenades, fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and strolled through the door with a determined shine in his eyes, tugging the thick leather coat closer to his body as a wave of cold air affronted his bare midriff.

_Sure, hell of a time to wear this, Mello,_ he chided himself in dark amusement, recalling how he'd put down Matt for a similar reason.

Well, old habits died hard, and if he was going to be at the top of his game today, this was the only way to do it.

Sharp canines digging into the last bit of his current Hershey's bar, Mello vaulted himself onto his bike, backing out with a squeal of tires against the icy ground and speeding off onto the main street with a roar and a cloud of trailing gray fog.

It was finally his turn to play.


	4. Unbridled

**AN:** Shortest chapter so far... Hmm. But more action!

Depending on feedback we get via reviews, we can keep chapters about this length or like the longer ones from before. Let us know! Reviews are really a great help and let us know how to make the story most enjoyable for readers. Thanks a bunch to everyone who has reviewed thus far!

* * *

It was the methodic beeping of the neighborhood garbage truck which finally forced Matt to grudgingly open his eyes and drag himself out of unconsciousness, though he cursed and shut them immediately when the glare of the sun caused them to begin to water. Groaning, and berating himself for forgetting to close the shutters of the window, he groped blindly about for the goggles that lay abandoned on the short nightstand.

He felt exhausted, but the fever had gone, and he was grateful for at least that reprieve. Hopefully it wouldn't be returning.

It was only when he reached for his phone to turn off the alarm, and realized that it wasn't ringing that a light bulb seemed to click on in his head.

His alarm hadn't gone off.

Shit.

And on that thought, the gamer leaped from his bed, hopping into a pair of jeans and an old sweater along the way, and dashed into the room already crowded with blinking screens and a tangle of multi colored wires.

No. _No no no no no_…

He rapidly punched in orders on the closest keyboard to get what he needed from his hacking system. Surveillance camera view points, security system codes, power system access, all the while heartbeat pumping rapidly. He'd planned on setting up the night before, but his fever had prevented him from doing so, though he hadn't planned on having to do everything so quickly. He cursed as his fingers fumbled a certain wire, and he had to reconnect it.

It was only when he had done everything that he could, and needed only to wait for his system to come through, that he actually took a minute to look at the clock. He hadn't been able to check the time before.

The thick black hands of the clock read at exactly 11:30, sending a wave of relief crashing over him, and causing the twisting of his stomach to subside.

He was going to kill Mello. There was no question about it. He was going to Fcking kill him.

That moronic bastard had turned off his alarm clock.

He grit his teeth in an attempt to keep from screaming his frustration aloud, but failed miserably.

"Idiot!" The shout echoed off of the walls and reverberated throughout the room.

A thousand curses filled his head, but he managed to keep them to himself.

How the hell was he supposed to watch Mello's back if he wasn't awake?

He silently thanked whatever deity it was that had decided to spare him the answer to that question. The blonde was lucky. Lucky that Matt had woken up before 1:00 PM, the time he would be needed to allow Mello unobserved entry to the facility, lucky his hacking programs were fast enough to get that information in time, but most of all lucky that at that moment he was far, far away from his extremely pissed off friend.

He counted to ten slowly, attempting to slow his haggard breath. His fists involuntarily clenching and unclenching at his side.

Damnit, Matt really needed an aspirin.

The mentally exhausted boy collapsed into the couch instead, not wanting the hassle of searching for the drug, but then remembered Mello had left them in the kitchen the night before and dragged himself off of the couch at some sad attempt to quell his pounding head.

This was definitely not the best way to wake up the day after having been temporarily sick, and trying to get better. He massaged his aching temples as he walked.

Filling a glass of cold water, he tried to allow the soft sound of the sink to overcome his angry thoughts, and popped the two capsules into his mouth.

He knew. He very well knew that Mello had probably only done such a thing to allow the gamer more rest, and that his intentions had most likely been well placed, but God, what could have happened...

Matt sunk into one of the kitchen chairs, sighing deeply.

Damn it. Sometimes he really wished his life was less stressful, but he knew that would never be possible with a best friend like Mello. Though really if he wanted to point any fingers, he was the one that stuck around.

He gave one last weary sigh before a sharp beep alerted him that his programs were ready for him to begin infiltrating the other system, and he made his way back to the computer desk, sliding neatly into the desk chair.

Eyes ablaze with the screen's haze reflected in his goggles, he scanned the programs running, searching for any loophole or mistake that might be hidden. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, and everything was running smoothly, he checked his time to see that he still had 40 minutes before his role would come into play.

In actuality he wasn't doing much. Messing with a few videos and tweaking the light system to keep Mello out of sight, and a little surveillance of his own just as a precaution in order to make sure the blonde wasn't walking into anything he couldn't handle. Really child's play for someone of his technical expertise, but potentially vital to Mello getting out unharmed.

Mello wouldn't be getting in touch until five or so minutes before the scheduled time and he decided that he had enough time for a shower before the blonde would be needing him, only hoping that the steamy water would help to clear his unusually occupied mind.

There were only three things he ever worried about. Making it to the next level in whichever game he happened to be playing at the time, his own sanity, and the well being of his best friend, the last two being very strongly intertwined.

But really, sometimes it was like the blonde went out of his way to make him worry.

His anger from earlier had faded for the most part, but there was still an edge of annoyance at the back of his mind, something he would deal with later, and when the blonde was around.

For now he relaxed in the shower, somewhat anxiously anticipating the long hours in front of the computer screen that awaited him. With luck, they would be tiresome and boring. Without luck, well, without luck he'd be off his seat and barreling down the streets in a matter of minutes.

Working on a case with Mello seemed to be the only time the gamer gladly invited boredom into his life, and he only hoped that the day would remain excitement-free.

 

An uncontainable grin spread slowly across the young man's face, twisting it with malicious excitement, teeth bared in something between a grimace and a grin. Mello pressed his back closer to the cool metal door, enjoying the sensation of cold slowly seeping past the thick material of his leather jacket. Carefully, he slid the cartridge back into the bright silver .45 in his right hand, clicking it into place, balancing the new weapon in his palm expertly.

On a whim, he suddenly tilted it up to his face, running his tongue along the cool, smooth silver surface of the side of the gun with an odd gleam in his blazing blue eyes.

Finally, he was going to redeem himself of the shame he had suffered a few days ago and repay these insignificant, pretentious little insects with a little dose of good, old-fashioned violence. And he meant to have as much fun as possible while at it.

He could already feel the adrenaline bubbling and brimming inside his chest, making him grin like a madman, gun in one hand and a half-eaten Hershey's in the other. Mello licked his lips in anticipation, sticking the bar in his mouth for a second while he fished his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time again before dropping it back into his jacket with a satisfied nod. He reached up to touch one gloved finger to a small device in his left ear.

"All set," he murmured around the sweet substance, checking his cartridge again. He waited for the affirmative from the other side.

Everything was in place, his unsuspecting enemies just beyond this sheet of metal It was practically a few thousand already in the bag, the blonde thought in satisfaction. That kind of bounty could buy a hell of a lot of chocolate. And maybe a video game or two, he added in a burst of generosity. After all, he thought approvingly, Matt had made him invisible with flawless precision thus far. Only a little more, just a few more tweaked camera footages and unsuspected light failures and he'd be out of there with a few months' living expenses guaranteed and, most importantly, his pride fully intact once more.

Taking a bite out of the melting chocolate only to stick the corner back in his mouth, the blonde pulled another silver weapon from inside his coat, balancing the familiar weights in each hand, and faced the steel door with self-satisfied determination in his fiery blue gaze.

"Ready?" he whispered with barely subdued sadistic glee.

If it wouldn't have caused him to drop the chocolate, Mello would have laughed aloud, anticipating his own dramatic entrance as he waited for Matt to open the door.

"3..2..1..."

Perfectly on cue, the thick metal entrance slid open with surprising silence, revealing the next chamber and about half a dozen startled and suddenly loudly cursing men dressed in black.

There was about a split second in which they stared blankly, groping for weapons as the dark-clad premonition of death swept in with a rustle of leather and the soft click of heels against concrete, letting loose a volley of bullets with both hands stretched before him and half of a foil-wrapped Hershey's bar dangling from his lightly smirking mouth.

And then the lights flickered and the only things left were the deadly silver gleam and the sounds of chaos.

 

By the time the police got there, there was little left of what had once been a nationally highly-wanted terrorist group.

Officer Jeffreys, head of the NYPD, stared in mild shock at the broken bodies sprawled in the middle of the room. Some were emitting nauseating gurgling or groaning noises. There were seven in all, as far as he could tell, most of whom were certainly in their final death throes, two already having passed the threshold to the other world.

As he watched his team begin to clean up the dreadful mess, the power plant's alarm system still belatedly ringing dully in the background, the graying man frowned deeply, faintly bothered by the sight despite his years of experience. He had gotten the call only a few minutes earlier, but had never expected this.

A deep and slightly rasping voice issued from a dark corner, making him start despite the fact he had known there was someone there.

"You said 'wanted, dead or alive.'" A faint gleam of teeth showed in the darkness.

The officer almost cringed. The bastard was smiling, after doing _this!_

But he said nothing, merely nodding, frowning suspiciously.

A dark laugh echoed suddenly in the chamber and a leather-clad youth strolled out of the shadows, hands in the pockets of a quite ripped and bloodied jacket, shoulder-length golden hair in wild disarray around his pallid features, generally attractive but marred on the left side by a dark scar. "What's wrong, officer?" the youth inquired, pulling a Hershey's bar out of his pocket and laughing as the policeman tensed, no doubt assuming it should have been a gun.

"I need to ascertain you're--"

The blonde's laugh cut him off and he shoved a folded leather badge-holder into the officer's hands.

The graying man's plain brown eyes widened momentarily when he flipped it open, gaping at the scarred young man. "You're…"

"Right," the youth grinned. "I see you've heard of the organization we work with, then, Chief," he noted, watching in mixed satisfaction and resentment as the stupid old man mouthed a single syllable in confusion, still staring at him. _"L…"_

Finally losing his patience, the blonde stepped forward and snatched his 'proof' back with a growl. "Now that that's taken care of, I'll be expecting the reward money," he stated coldly, handing the police chief a small piece of lined paper with a PO Box number on it and a name.

Jeffreys stared at the paper incredulously for a moment. What? This was it? He couldn't possibly send such a sum to some mailbox God knew where to a single first name which didn't even look like a name at all.

"Mello?" he read skeptically, looking up, but the youth was gone.

NYPD Chief Jeffreys glanced back down nervously. He decided he would send the money and let the other deal with anything that might happen afterwards.

Hell, he'd send whatever sum it took to goddam Antarctica if that's what it said, just as long as he never had to have those piercing blue eyes meet his again.


	5. Unfaltering

**A/N: **Matt/Mello... kind of. Cute, maybe just mildly fluffy. The implications can be there, if you want to see 'em in there. I leave it up to you. ; ) Enjoy the cute happy stuff while you can 'cause this is going to become very dark and angsty in just a few chapters, and the rating will rise for violence.

In any case, I couldn't think of a good 'un-' title, so I finally settled on "Unfaltering" to exemplify Matt's feelings for Mello. And maybe Mello's unvoiced but always-present-trust in his ever-loyal gamer.

Enjoy (and perhaps reviews would be nice...)!

* * *

The door to the apartment creaked open slowly as a dark, blonde-haired mass pushed inside, smiling devilishly, face pale and tired but darkly satisfied, and gripping the upper part of his left arm with the other hand, a faint hint of dark red blooming between his gloved fingers and glistening in the fading sunlight streaming in through the open blinds.

The lone occupant of the apartment looked up at the sound of the door opening and felt his fists clench automatically.

After he'd taken his much-needed shower earlier that day, most of the anger and irritation Matt had been clinging to had died away, and his mood had drastically improved, leaving him with a clear head. That is until he'd seen, or at least seen what part was visible of Mello's bloody encounter.

The blonde had gone up against much greater odds, even before the Kira incident, and was in no way incapable of handling the situation. Hell, this was nothing for a trained professional like himself. The enemy had been slow and incompetent, and Mello had been everything but, a yellow and black blur, tearing into the room, and bringing everything to chaos, leaving the room with nothing but the scent of blood, leather, and chocolate.

It was obvious though, now that the mission was over, how much his plan had revolved around stealth as the key element. A stealth that came from the tips of Matt's fingertips as they glided across the keyboard in a pattern known only to him. A stealth--and it was here that his thoughts turned once again to anger--that would not have been there without the boy behind it pulling the strings.

It was extremely likely that without the hacker's assistance, the situation could have easily gone down hill, and though the outcome would have probably been the same, Matt was sure that there was no way the blonde could have come out of it unscathed had that occurred.

And Mello knew this too, and yet, Matt surmised that even if the blonde hadn't been with the technical assistance, he would have gone in anyway, reckless moron that he was.

It was with these thoughts churning bitterly through his head that the fuming boy left his station at the computer to go and meet the object of his infuriation.

He strode to the front door with steel in his eyes, only to find his companion smiling a smile that could only be described as maniacal. It only served to make Matt's blood boil further, and the pissed-off brunette had to physically restrain himself from wiping the smirk off Mello's face with his fist. Instead he chose to exhibit his anger verbally.

"Are you a moron?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the livid strength in his tone was hard to miss.

Without waiting for a reply, he continued on, his voice growing in volume as he went. "Or are you just suicidal, because I swear you might as well be, all things considered. Do you have any idea what could have happened if I had woken up too late to watch your back?!"

He slammed his hand into the wall to emphasize his point, and something in the back of his mind deplored his actions, telling him that he was overreacting. He ignored the voice, almost all rational having fled him by this point.

"What the fck were you thinking?!"

The self-satisfied little smile slowly faded from the blonde's features, eyes narrowing slightly as his pale lips twisted into a snarl.

"What?!" he demanded, voice low but barely containing sudden rage. "Don't you fing tell me off, you little prude!" he spat, slamming the still half-open door shut behind him with a swift kick and pushing into the room, shoving the livid gamer out of the way and into the wall.

"What the hell kind of greeting is that, you ungrateful bastard?" the somewhat disheveled blonde growled, rounding on him, right hand clenching over the shallow wound in his left arm. '_Where the hell is this coming from, you bastard?'_ he thought in a mixture of anger and a dully hurt sort of shock. And after he was just thinking what a great team he and Matt made and how well everything had gone and still with that full and prideful satisfaction fluttering happily in his chest...

And then he came home ready to celebrate and was greeted with _this? _This accusing angry stare and heated nonsensical shouts?

_What the fck?!_

Ever-susceptible to the howling turmoil of emotion that suddenly seized him, the blonde whirled on his friend, fiery blue eyes flashing, angry and confused and hurt.

"Jesus, what's your deal, Matt?" he hissed, grimacing as his left arm throbbed painfully in protest of the sudden surge of angry adrenaline.

Matt glared wildly in disbelieving astonishment at the genuine incomprehension that was apparent just below the surface of the blonde's bubbling anger.

Did he really not remember? Had Mello really not understood the possibly fatal consequences of his decision to allow the gamer to sleep in?

If the obvious bewilderment that Mello was trying so hard to keep locked behind his usual defense mechanism of rage was any indication, he hadn't. Though this conclusion did nothing to quell the hot waves of fury churning and twisting Matt's insides.

The fuming brunette's voice returned once again to low pitches, as he fought the all-consuming anger within himself. A quiet voice in the back of his head demanded to know when his emotions had begun to mirror those of the livid blonde standing in front of him, but he quickly silenced it, sending it to the back of his mind for later speculation.

"The alarm clock…" he finally managed to emit in a low growl through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath meant to be calming before he continued. "If I hadn't woken up on time, you wouldn't have had any back-up, and before your inflated ego tells you that you didn't need the back-up-- because I know you would have gotten the job done with or without my help--think about what it could have cost you." The frustrated gamer managed to barely bite back a remark about the blonde making _another_ life-changing mistake, but was able to stop it at the last minute, even in his chaotic state of mind knowing that it would be going way too far.

After that insightful speech, Matt could feel himself finally coming down from the endorphins pumping through his hot blood, and the red haze that he hadn't really noticed that had been obscuring his vision began to subside, leaving him with clear unobstructed sight.

He maintained his steady gaze, leveling hard emerald with steely blue, until he registered Mello's uneven breathing.

He was confused for a moment, knowing Mello would never allow Matt's words to cause such a reaction, or at least never show it, until his curious eyes found the patch of blossoming red spreading slowly under leather-enclosed fingers. All at once the fading fire in his veins was replaced by ice, and his face paled nearly to the point of translucency.

He could have cared less what he'd been saying only a moment ago, he was instantly at the blonde's side, gently but firmly gripping his seemingly injured arm, and maintaining a strong hold. He knew that after a conversation like that, Mello would probably be less then willing to be in the gamer's presence, let alone be touched by him, but if he was hurt…

Dammit, why hadn't Mello said anything? Though that nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that he hadn't really given the blonde a chance to say anything before he had verbally attacked him the minute he had walked in the door.

He brushed off the sudden nauseating storm of guilt that threatened to overtake him. Guilt could come later, he had a responsibility to Mello _now_.

"What happened?" he demanded quietly, his throat suddenly constricted for reasons he didn't care to ponder.

Mello had just been preparing an angry retort to the goddam retarded alarm issue which, in his opinion, was the single stupidest thing to come out of the gamer's mouth recently, especially considering Mello wasn't a fcking _idiot_ and would have called to double-check if the stupid stripy moron hadn't checked in with him by noon, and for crying out loud goddammit, that's what cell phones were for and it wasn't like they were living in the Stone Age and Matt was being a pissy little drama queen for no bloody reason...

But the livid tirade he was setting to deliver died in his throat when one second the brunette had been berating him with petty trifles and the next he suddenly had both hands pressed over Mello's own blood-covered one and the blonde couldn't help but stare.

Matt was goddam losing it. The fever had completely addled his brains. That had to be it.

Mello flinched away, practically bristling, and jerked his arm free forcefully, swatting at the hands hovering near his shoulder with his free hand. "Are you fcking bipolar?" he hissed, stalking toward the couch in an attempt to distance himself. Sure, _now_ Matt fcking cared. Big whoop. What was _with_ him?!

"Nothing happened," he snapped, perching on the armrest farthest from the suddenly rather shaken-looking brunette and slowly peeling off his torn jacket with a frown. Dammit, now he needed a new one. Well, at least they had plenty of money now... Making it a point to turn his back to the gamer, Mello sat on the end of the armrest, shoulders hunched over and emitting soft curses as he tossed his gloves to the floor and tentatively began to nurse his wound with a sour expression, head down and tongue flicking out on instinct to taste the hot metallic substance slowly oozing past his fingers from a long but shallow gash just below his left shoulder.

Not surprised in the least at the standoffish reaction, but still concerned despite the blonde's sharp insistence that the wound was nothing, Matt bit down on his bottom lip to keep from voicing his own thoughts aloud:

'Nothing' doesn't _bleed_.

He was aware though, that at this point, anything else he said would be either ignored, or worse, bring out the aggressive side (like he had another side, the gamer thought dryly) of the blonde, and possibly aggravate the wound further, so he kept his mouth shut.

He stood at a loss, arms dangling limply at his side until an idea came to him and he quietly slipped out of the room.

Making his way to the bathroom, he opened up the painted-white wooden cabinets beneath the sink, the hinges whining loudly. After a few minutes of rummaging around, and finding only body soaps, a few different kinds of cleaner, and some extra towels, he at last located what he'd been looking for, silently thanking Near for having the foresight to put it there, and returned to the living room.

He approached without a word before tapping on Mello's shoulder lightly to notify his friend of his presence, though he was sure the blonde was already aware of him, and held out what he'd brought like a peace offering, keeping the small white rectangular box close enough for the blonde to see what it was, but not close enough for him to snatch it away, as he knew Mello would try.

Though the injury--Matt had deducted from Mello's reaction and the relatively low amount of blood loss--was not great, it was still better for someone with the use of both hands to treat it, and he could only hope his friend could see the sense in that. Although small, it would cause a much bigger problem if the wound were to become infected, and as such it needed to be treated promptly, and with care.

"Let me see?" He inquired softly, the question in his voice indicating to the blonde that he had a choice, and the power in the situation was therefore his. Mello hated to think someone was forcing him to do something, so Matt played his game and pretended it was a mere suggestion in the hopes that the blonde would agree. In any case, if he didn't agree Matt would still be the one to treat the wound, it would just be a hell of a lot more difficult and would probably involve a variety of colorful languages (languages because the blonde knew at least three, and on more then one occasion the gamer had known him to shriek expletives in all of them in one sentence), and possibly some punches thrown. All in all, something he'd like to avoid.

He held out his hand patiently for the blonde's, only hoping Mello would make it easy on both of them and allow the gamer to help him treat the gash.

Cerulean eyes glared down at the proffered hand in resentment and Mello's lips pursed critically as if he was about to make a nasty retort, as usual. But after a few seconds, he merely mumbled something under his breath which sounded faintly like it might have contained the words _bipolar,_ _two-sided, ungrateful_ and it definitely contained _bastard._

"Why the fck are you being so uptight?" he growled a little louder. "You were pissed at me for no damn reason and now you're acting like you care so much and all this shit. It's goddam annoying." He reached for the first-aid kit with a grimacing frown, baring his teeth as Matt held it close to his body and out of reach.

Seeing as he suddenly felt very drained and really didn't want to get off the couch to pursue his goal further, Mello just sat there and seethed, blue eyes flaring and still holding an odd sort of offended shimmer. And it had just occurred to him that tomorrow was Matt's goddam birthday, wasn't it? Well, fck. His earlier plans of sparing some of his newfound wealth to reward Matt for his good work with video games for his birthday were quickly going down the drain.

Some tiny nagging voice in the back of his head was attempting to let him know that the gamer was only trying to show he cared and didn't want to let Mello down, but the voice of reason had always had trouble getting through to the easily-upset blonde. If there was one thing he hated more than being told was to do, it was being goddam _reprimanded_. It really fcking grated.

But maybe Matt was trying to admit he was wrong or something by his sudden and more gentle change in attitude, so Mello tried to consider it. Well, mostly it was because he didn't feel like trying to bandage himself with one hand and his teeth. Except for if Matt did it, he'd probably pour that stinging antiseptic shit on him.

Damn, maybe it wasn't worth it.

Mello met his friend's (for once goggle-less) emerald eyes for a moment, debating.

"Fine!" the blonde snapped finally, turning with a huff to show his shoulder to the brunette. "But you're still a fcking bastard, Matt. Now get me some chocolate before you try to play doctor or I swear I'll shoot your sorry ass right now," he commanded imperially, suddenly pissed off at himself for giving in so easily.  
Matt released the small breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and, with the smallest of relieved smiles, made his way into the kitchen to grab one of the assorted chocolate bars he had procured the night before. He was amused, though not at all surprised, to find a good chunk of them missing, and a few wrappers left here and there on the table and counter tops.

"Look," he began quietly but loud enough to be heard in the other room as he fished through the bag of sweets, searching for the substance more like a drug than anything else to the boy waiting on the couch. "I'm sorry, okay? I overreacted."

Matt, unlike his counterpart, had no issues with admitting to his wrongdoings, at least not when it came to Mello. He couldn't have really if he'd managed to maintain a friendship with the other boy for so long.

Always the one to avoid a fight rather then initiate it, he had no problem with pushing his pride aside, and that was probably why the two could tolerate each other whereas they could not really tolerate anyone else. Even Matt, though generally not as antisocial as the blonde, felt that the two shared a unique compatibility, balancing each other out in an oddly asymmetrical design, something he hadn't found with anyone other then Mello. Where he rarely allowed his pride to get the better of him, the blonde did it enough for the both of them, and where his cocky dismissals might lead to stupid mistakes, Mello's overbearing paranoia when it came to cases kept the brunette from really messing up. They fit together like some strangely shaped puzzle piece, keeping each other sane and alive, with just enough of an edge to avoid being static.

It was why he apologized even knowing that, situations reversed, the gamer never would have gotten an apology in return. The fact was, it was irrelevant what Mello would have done in Matt's place. They were two very different people, and what was right for Matt was most likely entirely wrong for Mello, and vice versa.

He did not however, believe himself entirely in the wrong, overreaction or not, which was why he continued, as he made his way back to the couch, chocolate in hand.

"But, I was hardly upset for no reason. My concern was real and justified." Then he frowned. "And don't insinuate that my concern for you is false," he said, almost inaudibly, his stomach giving a small twinge at the idea. He then coughed slightly as his cheeks reddened. It was much easier for him to speak aloud about his emotions than the blonde, but still…

Searching awkwardly for any means of changing the subject, the brunette dropped the blonde's chocolate into his lap before taking Mello's injured arm and beginning to dab at it with one of the moist towelettes provided by the kit. It was really only to get the majority of the remaining blood off, before he would begin disinfecting it with alcohol.

He took his time with the small wipe, waiting for Mello to be far into his chocolate bar before he began disinfecting. It was just the smarter thing to do.

Mello flinched a little when he felt the cold cloth-like texture on his skin, grimacing again, but he said nothing, merely ripping the chocolate bar open with his teeth and gnawing on the edge in an attempt to calm himself.

Well, at least... At least the stupid stripy bastard had apologized, the blonde thought sourly, licking vigorously at the life-saving, sanity-preserving substance in his right hand. At least that was a start, though he still resented being yelled at like that for no damn reason. Matt was just so _obstinate._ And always so... protective. There was no other word for it, Mello admitted to himself in almost defeated realization. Whether he wanted it or not, Matt was always ready to leap to his side. Usually it was alright. Sometimes it made him feel like a child, and that was another thing he really resented. Still, it wasn't like he wasn't _grateful_ or anything, though like hell he'd admit it aloud. In the vicious, dog-eat-dog world he had been born into and had gone back to on leaving the orphanage, he had just never gotten used to having somebody actually _care_ if he got shot, even if it was only a tiny graze.

A soft sigh escaped the scarred boy's pale lips as the anger and defensiveness left him, thanks to the chocolate and, in some part--though he would never say it--to the gentle touch on his arm and the intensely focused yet kind expression on Matt's face as he knelt by the couch with the First Aid kit open by his side.

"I... didn't insinuate anything, Matt," he mumbled, recalling the brunette's earlier hurt look. He licked the sweet salvation in his hand absently, shifting a little more toward Matt for comfort.

The brunette said nothing in response to Mello's concession, but rather took advantage of the blonde's sudden change in temperament by choosing that moment to cease cleansing the affected area, and grab a fresh wash cloth from the emergency kit. He knew that if Mello saw that he was switching from just cleaning the wound to disinfecting it, he would begin to whine, and possibly try to escape, and so was glad the blonde was too distracted to notice.

It made it easier on both of them that way, Matt not having to worry if the blonde was going to bolt, and Mello not having to anticipate the sting of the medicine. Anticipating it always made it worse, or at least Matt felt that way.

He let out a small sigh as he went about the task of treating the bullet graze (which he had learned it was from the shape and angle of the gash). The brunette was glad that his angry mood from earlier had left him, not trusting himself to take care of Mello's wound as carefully if he'd still been harboring resentment. It seemed the two friends had come to some sort of silent agreement to end the previous conversation after Matt had pulled a one eighty and changed subjects. Though the conversation's end didn't mean nothing had been gained.

Even if the other boy had brushed off the gamer's words, he was at least aware of what the situation could have been, and why Matt had been so angry with him, and regardless of whether he believed Matt's grim possible outcome or not, the blonde would be sure not to make the same kind of mistake again. If nothing more, simply for the sake of avoiding the kind of argument that they had just had. At least Matt hoped. He didn't think Mello would repeat his actions knowing they would only lead to a fight. Mello wasn't the type to try to start a fight.

Taking a minute to access his last thought, he couldn't help but almost laugh aloud, the idea of a rational and reasonable blonde, bounty hunting, gun-toting, and chocolate obsessed ex-mafia boss almost too much for him to take.

Amend that thought, Mello wasn't the type to try to start a fight with MATT.

There, now that sounded better. Mostly.

Glad Mello was facing the other way at the moment, partially because of his expression that must have been a rather odd combination of concentration and suppressed laughter, and also because of what he was about to do, he braced himself for the string of expletives sure to leave the blonde's mouth, and swiftlyin order to get it done with as soon as possiblepressed the disinfectant-soaked washcloth to the open wound, and quickly began to clean.

"HOLY FCK!" the blonde yelped loudly, dropping his chocolate as he jolted with a hissing gasp at the sudden wave of stinging pain that hit his entire arm. FCK! That hurt more than the original goddam wound had! What the fck was Matt doing?! When had the unfeeling bastard even gotten the devil-spawned substance and why hadn't he noticed in time to flee? Mello wondered woefully.

He tried to jerk away, only to discover to his infuriated shock that the brunette bastard was holding his arm securely, having apparently foreseen Mello's imminent escape.

Damn him. Damn him _and_ the fcking bastard who had invented this shit in the first place. Who would willingly goddam create a substance that hurt more than getting shot?!

Shit, did it fcking _sting_.

"Goddamit Matt, do you fcking HAVE to do that?!" he snarled. "You're probably making it worse, you bastard!" He squirmed violently, but unfortunately only succeeded in falling from his precarious perch on the side of the couch and practically into Matt's lap, which elicited a very loud and very incensed string of colorful curses in several languages.

Rolling his eyes at the blonde's failed attempt at escape, Matt's firm hold on Mello's arm kept him from sprinting, and at the same time allowed him to haul the boy up and out of his lap.

He gave Mello an amused smirk as he placed him back on top of his respective spot on the couch.

"Really, Mello, giving me a blow job is not going to distract me from disinfecting your wound. Now, if you were a nineteen year old, cute and busty party girl looking for a good time, it might work." He frowned. "Then again, I don't know why I'd be disinfecting a bullet wound on an awesome girl like that." He shook his head, obviously not caring to pursue that train of thought, and began working on the wound once again, ignoring Mello's whiney protests.

"Oh come on, it isn't that bad, and besides, the less you squirm the easier and quicker it will be over with. Now stop moving, and shut up."

Despite what it may have seemed to anyone who had witnessed their strange relationship, Mello did not have all of the control all of the time. While Matt was usually alright with being the one to concede, when it came down to something that was for the blonde's own good, he put his foot down. This was one of those times.

That and Mello's whining really grated on his nerves.

Mello's blue eyes, which had widened to twice their size in a cross between embarrassed shock and seething anger at Matt's earlier comment, now narrowed at being scolded and told to shut up. "Don't tell me what to do, you perverted bastard," he snapped, glaring into the amber lenses of the goggles on the top of Matt's head as the brunette leaned over the wound.

His eyes fell forlornly to the half-eaten Hershey's bar he had dropped on the floor when the sudden sting of the antiseptic had ambushed his senses.

"Shit, Matt, you made me drop my chocolate," he growled, suddenly jerking the goggles off the brunette's head and chucking them across the room with a malicious snarl. "Bastard."

He only wished it had been the Gameboy. That would certainly serve the sadistic jerk right.

Matt stared open-mouthed at the display of childish behavior. When Mello had complained about his dropped chocolate, the gamer had briefly considered getting up to get him a new one if only to placate him, but then the blonde had gone and thrown his goggles across the room and onto the floor.

Matt glared, seething at the only part of Mello visible to him, his arm, and continued his work, adding possibly a bit more antiseptic than necessary. It wasn't as though the blonde didn't deserve it.

Like hell he was going to get the stupid brat another chocolate bar now.

There were very few things that Matt was protective of. Number one being Mello of course, and number two, his goggles, followed by his DS, and all other electronics in his possession.

He clearly remembered the day he had first received his goggles from an older brother that he had known, it seemed centuries ago. He remembered the laughter in his brother's eyes, and the way his father had ruffled his hair. He remembered the scent of his mother's perfume as she assaulted him with hugs, and the way he squirmed to get away, claiming he was, "too old for stuff like that now." It had been before Mello, before Kira, and before Wammy's.

However pleasant it may be though, it was not a memory he wished to delve into; it was connected with too many unpleasant ones, and he was pretty sure he'd not come to terms with all of it yet. Chances were he never would, and he was perfectly fine with that.

After all, the boy who had made those memories was dead now, having died the day he set foot into Wammy's Orphanage for the Gifted. But those goggles were the only remaining physical reminder of the boy Mail Jeevas, and the only proof of existence that said boy had really ever lived.

It was natural that he be somewhat annoyed with Mello for tossing them on the floor, though his annoyance was mild, knowing that the blonde was ignorant of the sentimentality attached to the orange-tinted goggles.

Matt had never bothered to share with anyone about their meaning, just as the brunette was pretty sure the other boy had never shared whatever the significance of his rosary might be.

And Matt would have been pretty idiotic to assume it just a fashion statement.

He finished treating the wound and pushed away from the blonde with more effort than was probably necessary, then knelt to retrieve the fallen lenses. He cleaned them quickly with a puff of hot breath and the hem of his sleeve before he grabbed a jacket and headed to the door.

"I'm gonna have a smoke, be out here if you need me."

And with that, Matt stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Blue eyes stared at the closed door for a few seconds in slight perplexity before Mello allowed himself to fall back on the cushions with a thump, his legs still dangling off the side of the couch armrest. He stared at the ceiling, right hand slowly creeping over to his upper left arm, fingers brushing the clean new bandages where he had felt blood before.

"Shit, Matt," he muttered at the Stucco on the apartment ceiling. "You know lung cancer will do you in one day if you keep doing that..."

But there wasn't really any heart in the statement.

Mello was quite aware he was an easily-upset bastard sometimes, but he also knew that Matt usually didn't care, or had gotten used to it. Yet even though nobody would ever dream of considering the blonde to be a sympathetic person in touch with anyone else's emotions, the one person he really could tell when something was wrong with was Matt.

Matt who had suddenly fallen quiet and left the room with a sudden nicotine craving.

The ceiling didn't respond to the blue-eyed glare directed at it. Well, damn, what had he done this time? Matt almost never got touchy or defensive. Unlike the blonde--and Mello knew both himself and Matt pretty well--he was generally a passive sort of guy who didn't let things get to him.

Sure, he got angry. He also had an annoying knack for making a hobby out of trying to push Mello to anger (not a difficult feat) if he was bored. But Matt wasn't the type to look so damn... sentimental. Like he was dwelling on an old wound that still hurt.

That kind of look on Matt's face was unnerving.

Mello sighed, lifting an arm to garb onto the other edge of the couch and drag his body toward it in order to get his legs in too.

Must've been the goggles, he reflected uncomfortably. To make Matt look like that, even if he had tried to hide it. Must've been something important.

The blonde stuck a hand out, groping around the coffee table in hopes of locating a new bar of chocolate. He found an empty bag of chips, Matt's DS, and some wires. No luck with the chocolate. Damn. Well, at least his arm didn't hurt anymore. Matt must've remembered to put some pain reliever on it, probably. Mello hadn't really noticed. He'd been too busy nursing his pride.

Withdrawing the arm, he put it over his face, closing his eyes. After a few seconds of idle deliberation, the blonde decided he didn't feel like getting up now, even for chocolate. Instead, he pulled the silver cross dangling down the side of his chest into his mouth, pressing the cool metal to his lips. It felt strangely... calming. He sucked on it reflectively for a while, recalling with some satisfaction that despite recent drawbacks, the day had been an overall success. And tomorrow...

Well, he hadn't forgotten.

However annoying the jerk was at times, he was still Mello's best friend and birthdays came but once a year. Maybe Matt deserved something nice after all. He really had been a big help earlier, Mello admitted to himself. Actually, he had been a big help just now, he added grudgingly, knowing full well he was no good at treating wounds effectively.

_"...be out here if you need me._"

It was those last four words which had assured Mello that Matt wasn't angry with him anymore. In a way, it was good to know, even though he still insisted that the gamer's anger had been ridiculous. In any case, Mello conceded to himself that he wasn't angry with Matt anymore either.

Another soft sigh escaped his lips and he let the silver cross drop back onto his chest. He was just so tired all of a sudden. Really, it didn't make sense. It hadn't been that big a case. Still, traveling and researching and planning and then having to deal with stupid Matt getting himself sick really was taking its toll after all.

Mello vaguely thought he should take a shower, but the thought was lost in the feeling of his own breathing getting slower and steadier and he realized he was more exhausted than he had thought.

Tucking his long legs closer to his body for warmth, the blonde boy finally let much-needed sleep take hold of him without reserve, fully certain of the fact that if anything ever happened, his back was always well-watched.

— — —

Matt took a long drag of his cigarette, watching as the puff of smoke he emitted curled around itself, and mingled with his breath in the cold night air. The silky feeling of the nicotine entering his blood soothed his wired nerves, bringing a serene kind of calm to his senses, and helping him to recover from what had been another very long day.

He seemed to be having a lot of those lately.

He hadn't actually been all that busy, but it seemed like he'd been bombarded with more forgotten memories and emotional stress in the last three days than he'd had to think about in years. Mello's accident, L's death, and his own family were only a few of the buried memories that had come to mind lately, not to mention all of the worrying he'd been doing.

What with both of them working currently with Near, he also couldn't help but fall back in time to remember their Wammy's days.

God, he missed Wammy's, when the only thing he had had to worry about was what usually failed plan his blonde counterpart was going to drag him into at some obsessive attempt to better Near. Chuckling at the memory, he couldn't help but yearn for such stupid simplicity.

When the worst that could happen was that they would be caught by Roger in the middle of one of their rule-breaking plans, and then be forced to clean up classrooms for a week. God, he remembered suddenly, they would always give the most moronic excuses to get out of their punishment, and he remembered with a laugh that half of the time the excuses would actually work. Not because they were logical in any way at all. Oh, no. They would work because even half-assed excuses sounded flawlessly true with perfect little Linda there to back them up. Even Roger couldn't say no to that angelic face.

This time Matt actually had to remove his cigarette to stifle his laughter with one glove-covered hand.

He hadn't thought about Linda in ages. He'd always been slightly friends with the blonde-haired blue-eyed artistic genius. She'd always enjoyed breaking the preconceived notions that everyone had about her in order to occasionally join in on their insane schemes, though more often then not she was only there to provide back up. Damn, was it enough. He was sure he'd never met someone who could lie as well as her. She'd just blink those baby blue eyes and stare, and no one could ever question her motives.

Now that he thought about it though, she usually only showed up at the end of the schemes, just in time to see Near's reaction or lack thereof at whatever they'd tried to do to him. She really only ever laughed when they were able to get some kind of reaction out of him, and looking back on it, he realized she had probably had some kind of crush or motherly attachment to the white-haired boy that had made her want to see him show some kind of emotion.

Sometimes it was just painful to glance at the emptiness in his eyes.

Matt shook his head, not wanting his thoughts to drift to the white-haired prodigy. He had enough problems with one prodigy, he didn't need to kill himself worrying over another.

He did wonder though what had ever happened to Linda. She'd been lucky enough to stay out of the Kira case as far as he knew, though he was curious to how she was doing. He'd have to make a note to look her up sometime.

He shuddered as a small breeze descended upon him, and hugged his jacket closer to his body.

It was getting late and he'd had enough reminiscing for one night.

He entered the apartment, shaking off the cold and the bits of ancient history still clinging to his thin frame.

"Mel?" he called out softly, wondering where the blonde had gone off to. He placed his goggles carefully on the table, and casually tossed his jacket onto the couch.

The soft grumble that came from the couch startled him a bit, and he was half amused and half annoyed to find the blonde curled into a tight ball, asleep.

"Geez, Mello," he chortled to himself, "Can't you ever make it to the bed?"

Damn, he knew he'd have hell if Mello woke up on the couch for the second night in a row. Sighing, he removed the jacket that had landed on the blonde when he'd thrown it, and--careful not to wake him (he really didn't want to be shot, and he had a feeling Mello wouldn't be quite as adept at treating bullet wounds as himself)--picked the blonde up.

Grumbling about dumb blondes who couldn't drag their lazy asses to the bedroom, he fumbled with the bedroom door, eventually using his foot to kick the door the rest of the way open.

He couldn't help but notice, but Mello wasn't all that heavy, a great feat considering the amount of chocolate he consumed daily. Still, this was just way too much of an inconvenience for him to ever let happen again. Not to mention a hazard to his health (if Mello woke up, anyway).

Seriously though, he thought as he carefully set his friend down on the bed and rummaged through the drawers to find his sweats and change for the night, the next time the stupid moron fell asleep on the couch, he'd have to drag his own sorry ass to the bed.

Sighing one last time for the night, Matt flicked the lights off and collapsed into the welcoming comfort of the blankets, a mumbled "night, Mello" the last thing that left his lips before the inky blackness of sleep overcame him.


	6. Unpredictable

**AN: **Another long chapter... Oh, and thanks to all reviewers!

And now, enter dramatic music the antagonist is finally introduced! He'll be appearing plenty in a few more chapters. The story can't stay happy forever; enjoy it while it lasts... And now for Mattie's birthday surprise! XD

* * *

_What was that, what was that, what the __**hell**__ was that?_

It was the only thought that passed through the mind of the dark-haired young man as he hastily paced from corner to corner of what seemed to be some kind of exotic waiting room, his eyes not caring to take in the luxurious surroundings, as his mind was focused on much more important matters.

It was not the first time he had been to this room, and he hoped to Mary, Joseph, and Jesus that it would not be his last, but if his …manager (what, boss? Leader? Superior? He wasn't really sure what word applied to their precarious situation, probably all of them, probably more) held him at all responsible for what had happened…he shuddered to think of what might occur.

The onyx black couch on one side of the room made of genuine Italian leather lay vacant, forsaken instead for the man's nervous pacing, the heels of his shoes creating a steady clapping rhythm against the dark red mahogany floors. Even the hand-painted frescos on the wall, depicting some kind of tropical island complete with copious different species of fruit trees, and what could only be assumed to be the island's dark skinned inhabitants, did nothing to relax his rattled nerves.

In utter opposition to the room, he himself was a horrible mess. His choppy black hair appeared tangled, and full of different debris, some that looked suspiciously like human blood clinging and falling slowly from the edges of his bangs, and his face was a sallow gaunt white, the perfect image of unadulterated fear. All of this was dwarfed in comparison to the wild look of panic in his dark coal eyes.

He wrung his hands together, not even noticing as he rubbed them raw, and tiny flecks of blood and skin added themselves to his already soiled, once white undershirt. Luckily the mess didn't show up much on the black of his dark suit. It looked like it had once been a nice suit, just as he looked like he had once been a sane man, but both ideas were ludicrous now as it was plain for anyone to see that was not the case, leaving only the nervous wreck of a man, wearing a once-brilliant suit.

He leapt in the air when the door across from the couch opened, and another suited man, though a much saner looking one, informed him that they were ready for him to be seen now.

The man bobbed his head in acknowledgement, sadly reminiscent of one of those celebrity bobble heads people often kept on the hoods of their cars. He treaded slowly into the room. eyes darting to every corner and shadow of what appeared to be some kind of meeting room. A long slick oval table was the only object in the room, other than the six chairs on either side, and one chair at the head of the table. The only chair that was occupied. The lighting was not entirely dim, but his eyes struggled to adjust to the difference between the bright lighting of the previous room and this one in order to get a good look at the other occupant of the room, though he already knew who it was.

He struggled to form a coherent sentence but was saved the effort when the other spoke first.

"Jason, relax. I am not here to punish you. I know what happened was in no way your fault, I just want to get your own story of whatever it was that did occur over there this evening. It's very important that we find out for everyone's sake."

As Jason's eyes finally adapted to the lighting, he was able to see the casual manner in which his superior held himself, and also the friendly reassuring smile meant for his own sake, and he felt the knot of tension in his gut at last relax.

It was going to be okay. He hadn't done anything wrong, and it was going to be okay.

Letting out a gasp of relief, he sunk into his chair as his muscles loosened, and chanted this over and over in his head.

His superior smiled, glad that he had been able to put Jason at ease, and asked his first question as he folded his hands together on top of the table.

"Now then, tell me exactly what happened, and where things went wrong."

Jason nodded in response, black curls of hair bouncing back and forth along with his head.

"It was…" and he began slowly, making sure to describe everything that had happened in excruciating detail. He wanted to make sure he didn't leave anything out for fear of later consequences.

His boss nodded his understanding as the black-haired youth gave his perspective on what had happened, as Jason explained first how things had been going as planned, and then how the electronic system had suddenly started malfunctioning, and then at last, how the scarred man had entered the building, disposing of all of the scientists in a matter of minutes, and coming out with only an bullet graze on his arm, all the while with Jason hidden in a tiny camera less observation room, with only a small slit in the near-invisible door for him to see what was going on. The slit of course had been meant for him to observe that the scientists did as the two groups had agreed upon, and that they lived up to their end of the bargain. He had not planned on witnessing their massacre.

Jason finished recalling the event abruptly, the memories of that day obviously very fresh in his mind and causing is nerves to start up again.

His superior remained sitting calmly on his side of the table, the only sign of having heard anything of the chaos that had ensued was the way he brushed a hand through his well-groomed, also dark locks of hair, though if anything, the issue was just another nuisance to deal with. It happened every once in a while. A new group of thugs moved into the city and tried to make a name for themselves by taking out a rival. The only distinguishing aspect of the story was Jason's claim that it had been one man alone. He blamed that observation on the fact that the silly boy had obviously been too scared to think straight, and Jason himself had admitted that the lights had been messed with. Still, if he wanted to take care of the issue before it could cause further issues, he would have to have some kind of physical description to start working with.

"Alright then Jason, one more question, and then you're free for the night, if you could just tell me what they-excuse me, he looked like? Any distinguishing features other then the burn scar on his face?" he waited silently for an answer not really expecting much. He had never heard of anyone local who had a burn scar across his face, supporting his idea that it was someone new to the area.

"We-well sir, he was blonde…" The boy trailed off seemingly trying to remember anything else that might help.

Then upon remembering, his head shot up.

"There was one other thing…" he began, but stopped, uncertain if it was relevant.

His superior nodded in encouragement, "Go on."

"It didn't really have to do with what he looked like, but…he, the whole time, and afterwards, he was eating…eating chocolate." At first he'd been unsure of what the man had been eating, but now that he recalled it, he was sure it was chocolate, remembering the loud snap it made over and over again, a sound he was sure he'd never be able to hear again without flinching.

He glanced up expecting to see the politely uninterested look on his boss's face that he got whenever Jason said something especially pointless or stupid, and was shocked and somewhat frightened to see something else entirely.

Every bit of calm that he had left fled him at the look of utter fury on his superior's chalk-white face, but the look was only there for a moment before it was concealed again behind a cool mask of charmed indifference.

"Are you absolutely positive about that last little bit, Jason?" and though the words and facial expression were serene, he somehow knew the intent was anything but.

He nodded vigorously, and refused to meet the man's eyes again.

It was only when he heard the uttered, "You're free to go," that his head shot up momentarily, if only to nod in courtesy, and he dashed from the room.

The man watched his underling flee the room in terror, and would have taken some pleasure in his ability to instill fear had his mind not been on other, more important issues at hand.

As much as he couldn't believe it, there was no possible way there were two men in the world with that disgusting habit. He could almost hear the tell-tale snap of teeth breaking off a piece of the cocoa based sweet.

He smiled slowly, and widely, suddenly happier than he'd been in a long time.

"For you, Em," he spoke aloud to no one in the room.

"Finally, for you."

-- -- -- -- --

The door to the apartment opened softly, admitting a cold gust of wind from outside as the black-clad boy slipped back into the still-dark apartment, shaking snow off the thick leather jacket (with lots of punk/gothic looking zippers and buttons) he had just bought. Squinting and blinking to adjust his eyes to the newfound dimness of the closed blinds, Mello pulled off his large sunglasses and set them on the counter along with a medium-sized metal suitcase.

He smirked at his prize, breathing heavily on his hands in order to warm his frozen fingers. Damn snow. He still wasn't used to this weather. But nevermind that, Mello thought in dark satisfaction. It appeared that the police chief had delivered on his promise. After almost pissing himself, Mello recalled with a malicious grin. Damn, did he love instilling that look in people's eyes.

Yawning suddenly, the blonde glanced at the clock on the microwave, mildly surprised it was already 3:30pm. Well, not that he should've been, really, he mused. He had only woken up around an hour ago, and that only because he was freezing his ass off because Matt had stolen all the goddam blankets.

Well, at least it had given him time to take a quick shower and go out to grab his prize from yesterday without having to deal with a sleep-groggy Matt trying to explain to him he hadn't actually _meant _to try to make Mello catch his death of a cold because he was a selfish bastard for hogging all the blankets.

Mello blinked suddenly. Wait, how the hell had he even gotten into the (as he recalled, plushy, king-sized) bed? He could've sworn he'd passed out on the couch last night.

_Oh, shit. He __**didn't**__..._

Dammit! He _must've_! Oh, God, that was mortifying!

Scowling to himself at the prospect of being carried like a goddam baby to his bed, Mello set about rummaging in the fridge for something to eat, having been too cold to think about food while outside. Unfortunately, however, he remembered they hadn't gone grocery shopping yet, leaving only his leftover Carl's Jr. chicken sandwich, a few sodas, some liquid Tylenol, and his chocolate stash as the sole inhabitants of the refrigerator. There were some chips on the floor of the living room, he recalled vaguely, but he was almost sure they were only the wrappers. Jesus, Matt was such a pig.

Deciding an almond Hershey's was about as good a breakfast--well, lunch-- as he was going to get, Mello shoved the fridge closed and set about making some coffee.

Which, incidentally, was always Matt's job.

After a while, the reason became clear because soon the strong smells of coffee beans and burning mingled in the air and the blonde suddenly found himself having to toss the black sludge in the coffee pot out the window in a sort of horrified panic. He fcking _swore_ that thing had just moved!

Scowling and issuing a string of very profound curses, mostly in his native Yugoslavian, Mello tried to fan all the disgusting burning-coffee smell out the front door before stalking toward the bedroom. Well, damn. That was the last fcking time he tried to be nice and make the coffee instead of Matt. The stupid substance was much harder to make than it had appeared.

Still grumbling under his breath, Mello toed the door to the bedroom open slowly, finding Matt sprawled out across the entire bed and snoring softly.

Rolling his eyes at the sight, the blonde moved toward the window, slowly opening the blinds a crack.

Something wasn't right. Matt knew it instinctively, without even having to open his eyes. No, something was horribly, horribly wrong. His skin was itchy, his eyes screamed to be kept shut, and the smallest irritation seemed to sizzle away at the skin of his cheek. Slowly, achingly, painfully.

No! He knew that obnoxious tingle on his face; it was an old enemy he was much too familiar with, come back to haunt him in his peaceful sleep once again.

Damn sunlight!

Grumbling loudly, he pulled the covers up over his head, whining indiscernibly something that might have been, "you won't win this time…you…fiend...," before he nestled himself back into a ball of blankets, pillows, and Matt, content to fall back to sleep now that he was no longer threatened by the stinging rays of light.

Mello blinked, glaring at the fortress of blankets Matt had surrounded himself in, and gave an exasperated sigh, putting a fist on his hip.

"Matt, you lazy bastard, get your ass up already!" he growled, stalking toward the bed threateningly. "It's almost 4 in the afternoon, dammit!"

He leaned over the mound of steadily snoring covers and jabbed a finger about where he judged Matt's ribcage should be. "By the time you drag your scrawny ass out of bed, the arcade will be closed, you dolt!"

Matt sat up in bed slowly, his eyes watering as the sudden glare of sunlight assaulted his vision. He scanned the room through squinted eyes, in search of his beloved goggles, and then cursed under his breath when he remembered he had left them in the kitchen last night. He settled in stead for shielding his eyes from the blazing rays of sunshine with one hand. It was better at least, then nothing for his unusually photosensitive eyes. A trait he was sure he'd picked up from his own reclusive nocturnal habits. It was going to take a while to get completely used to the sun again.

Recalling the words of the blonde haired man who had hauled him from the comfort of sleep, he reached for his phone and bleared through sleepy green eyes until the colors on the screen began to make sense.

Holy crap, it _was_ almost 4. That would definitely be too late...to…go to…

To go to…huh?

Wait a second. His thoughts ground to a screeching stop.

What?

Had he heard right? There was no way. He had to have heard wrong.

Then again, it was Mello speaking, and it wasn't very often Matt heard him wrong. It was kind of a self-preservation instinct he had picked up on through the years. If Mello was speaking, he had better damn listen.

He'd been punched, kicked, and pistol-whipped for his inattention more then enough times for that instinct to take hold. The only exception of course being when he was playing on his DS. If that was the case, it was up to the blonde to get his attention.

The point being, even just waking, he was usually pretty good at listening to the blonde, which lead him to believe that he had heard right.

Sure. That made sense. Not.

Even his reasoning in his head sounded lame.

"Um," he started lamely, not wanting to sound like an idiot, but seriously curious as to what the hell the blonde had said.

"What was that last part? I missed it…" he stared disbelievingly at the older boy, somewhat suspicious of the answer.

Mello shot him another completely exasperated look. "Are you fcking deaf?" he growled. "Ass out of bed. Get dressed. NOW."

He rolled his blue eyes as if he were being forced into contact with some retarded child. "I don't know when the damn arcade closes, seeing as that's usually _your_ grounds of expertise, but I'm pretty sure if you keep insisting on being a goddam couch potato any longer, it's not gonna be a good thing for you."

With another vicious stab toward the other boy's thickly blanketed middle, Mello grinned, baring sharp canines and leering at Matt with an unnerving shine in his azure eyes.

"Do I make myself quite clear, you deaf lazy lout?"

Despite the nagging suspicion that he had in fact _not_ been woken up and was still sleeping, or that some kind of body snatcher-like creatures had invaded the planet and were trying secretly to replace all of mankind with visually identical clones that were actually robots in disguise, or possibly zombies, (though they were doing a terrible job of trying to remain inconspicuous and imitate the personality of their host subject if they thought that Mello inviting Matt to an arcade was _any_ kind of semblance of normal) he managed to refrain from spewing the immediate and overused "What are you and what have you done with Mello?".

Just barely.

Instead of fighting it though, he figured why not go with it. Either Mello had taken some serious damage to his head the night before, or the boy standing in front of him was actually the inhabitant of another planet attempting world domination, in which case Matt figured for aliens trying to take over the world and exterminate all of humanity, it could have been much worse then opting to go to an arcade.

Like, they could have been those freaky things from Halo that had given him nightmares for a week after the first time he had played it. Talk about creepy. No, he decided, Mello's act of random, well, kindness was more reminiscent of what he would expect of the cute singing green Martians shown at the second secret ending of Silent Hill 3, the ones that had no actual connection to the real plot, but were automatically awesome because they sang and danced.

Laughing slightly manically under his breath, Matt squirmed out of the blankets holding him hostage and made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a set of fresh clothes and a towel on the way. He was in fact so lost in his own freakish imagination that he didn't even bother to spare a second glance at the blonde. Partly because his mind was elsewhere, dreaming of arcade style Tekken and House of the Dead, partly because he had just woken up, and partly because he half believed he was still dreaming.

It took all of 30 seconds after he had shut the door, turned the shower on, and stripped to nothing but a towel around his waist before he opened the bathroom door once more spilling the billows of steam that had begun to form into the bedroom, this time towel-clad, and a combination of childish glee, disbelief, and elated hope spreading across his face. After five full minutes of being awake he had finally managed to gain the use of all of his senses, and realized that Mello in fact was not an alien, thus prompting him to prop the door open and in what could only be described as the tone of voice coming from a child whom had just been led to a candy shop and told they could have anything they wanted, verified one last time.

"Really?"

There was a second of silence wherein the two boys stared silently at each other, hopeful green eyes meeting sharp blue, and then the blonde threw his hands up suddenly in exasperation, letting out a loud and theatrical sigh. "Jesus Christ, Matt, get your goddam ears checked already. You have 20 minutes and if you don't have your ass out of that door and on the street waving down a cab by exactly half past four, you can bet all your stupid game consoles that I'm never letting you go to an arcade ever again."

And with that, the blonde turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the room.

He did his best to keep the wide smirk off his face until he had slammed the door shut behind him, but only barely succeeded. God, was it fun to screw with Matt.

Though seriously, he wondered, unsure whether to be darkly pleased or offended, surely a decently kind gesture for his best friend on his birthday wasn't all THAT unbelievable coming from him... was it?

Shrugging it off and still grinning musingly to himself, Mello shuffled into the kitchen and began to fan the stove with the plastic covers to one of Matt's video games in an attempt to clear the last remnants of the smell of burnt coffee.  
— — —

Matt wasn't one to take long showers, but even so must have set a new record with the inhuman speed at which he showered, dressed, and was out. He was still toweling his auburn locks dry when he stepped out of the bathroom, unruly bangs still dripping on the floor as the remaining steam from his shower spilled out in hot waves and dissipated upon meeting the open air.

He had no idea what had happened to plant such an idea in his best friend's mind, but sure as hell was going to take advantage of it.

He continued towel drying his hair with one hand while the other fiddled with the lace of his left boot trying awkwardly to tie the string up with only his left hand. He eventually gave up the seemingly impossible task, dropping the towel and deeming his hair dry enough, in order to utilize both hands to tie the damn shoe. After succeeding in putting on both of his black calf high boots, he practically skipped to the closet, grabbing a thick black windbreaker to keep the cold out from under his thin black and white striped long sleeved tee shirt.

He sprinted to the door beaming as he waited for the blonde to turn around from doing whatever it was he was doing, and realize that not only was the exuberant gamer ready on time, but he was even ready a whole ten minutes early.

Hey, he moved fast when it was a matter of high importance.

He stood with his hand at his forehead in mock salute as he so loved to do, bangs still slightly damp and clinging to his forehead, unable to contain the excited grin that had slipped into place.

He was going to an arcade! And what could possibly be better then going to an arcade? As he tried to answer the question himself while waiting for the blonde to turn around, the answer came to his mind.

Going to an arcade with his best friend. And his smile grew, if possible, even wider.

And when Mello finally turned around to notice the gamer standing at the door, he was met with the ridiculous sight of Matt standing there like a moron, one palm raised in the air, and an idiotic grin plastered across his glowing face.

Mello blinked, then barely contained the burst of laughter that tried to sneak past his supposedly stern expression. "Good. Finally," he added wryly, despite the fact Matt was actually early.

Grabbing his keys off the countertop and setting down the makeshift videogame-cover fan, Mello quickly slipped on his new jacket, zipping it up in satisfaction and rushing to the (still really frikkin' hot) bathroom to squint at his foggy reflection in the mirror. Ooh, he liked it. It was totally worth 200, he decided, flashing himself a grin then strolling back out to the living room where Matt was waiting by the door, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. Geez, what a little kid.

Mello rolled his eyes at him, gesturing him out the door and the other practically bolted toward the part of the corner street where the taxis usually accumulated.

Locking the door with an amused grin, Mello followed, pleased to find Matt already giving directions to the taxi driver. Er, good thing actually, now that Mello thought about it. He had no idea where anything was yet and ... Hey, wait. Exactly _how_ did Matt know, anyway?

Growling to himself about idiotic otaku who obviously wasted their spare time, Mello for once decided to forsake his usual shotgun position and slid instead into the back seat with Matt with a soft rustle of leather

"How long?" he inquired of the taxi driver, glaring critically at the little device attached to the dashboard of the vehicle which told him how much money was being stolen from his wallet every mile. Well, he would've taken his bike, he thought in retrospect, but he wasn't too good at driving in the snow and didn't feel like trying it in the dark. Actually, he was just being lazy and content to know he had more than plenty to spend on leisure. A taxi would do.

The man in the driver's seat shrugged as they attempted to accelerate on the crowded street. "'Bout ten-feefteen meenutes," he replied in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.

Mello scowled, then decided it wasn't too bad and shrugged it off, pulling a chocolate bar from his pocket and shooting Matt a sidelong glance.

"Hey, Matt," he ventured after a few minutes. "I think we need a new coffee pot. ...Or some really strong cleaner," he suggested casually, licking at the corner of his candy. One good thing about this coldweather, the blonde thought absently, was that his chocolate didn't melt even if it stayed in his pocket all day.

Matt cocked his head inquiringly in Mello's direction before he remembered vaguely the smell of something burning, or rather something burned, as they had left the apartment. Hmm, now that he took a minute to think about it, any sane person probably would have checked to see what exactly in his own living space had burned and how, before leaving the building. He frowned for a second before dismissing the thought with a cheery 'oh well.'

He chuckled a bit at Mello's words, having long ago learned of the dangers of the blonde being allowed anywhere near a kitchen other then for eating purposes. Really, if Mello was dangerous with a gun, then he was downright lethal with the power of a stove, microwave, and oven at the tips of his fingers. He wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Wait, no he would.

He would wish it on that Takada bitch who was almost responsible for both of their deaths. He smiled evilly at the thought of the stupid tramp's head sticking out of an oven.

Heh, cook until golden brown.

Okay, so maybe there were some advantages to Mello's accident-proneness in a kitchen.

He realized he hadn't responded yet to Mello's comment, having gotten too lost fantasizing about the different ways to make that woman suffer. He wasn't a sadistic person by nature, not like the boy sitting next to him, but that horrible woman had almost cost them everything, and even if she had already met her own end, ironically by the man she claimed to love and with the tool of death she had used at his command, no kind of hell was good enough for her.

He shook his head to clear the morbid thoughts attempting to clutter his mind. Today was about having fun, and he wouldn't let a ghost of their past ruin it.

Smiling, he turned to face his friend, noticing that they were now only a few minutes away from their destination when he recognized one of the businesses outside of the window.

"The coffee maker? Do I even want to know?" his smirk said that he already did.

The blonde shrugged, munching in satisfaction on his candy bar. "The machine was defective. There's no other explanation to it."

He followed Matt's gaze out the window, wondering vaguely if he was smiling in such a sadistic fashion in anticipation of some sort of shooting game at the arcade.

In a few more minutes, the cab stopped outside an obnoxiously bright flashing sign Mello didn't bother to remember the name of as he handed some bills to the driver, even remembering to tip a little. Hell, he was in a surprisingly good mood tonight. He could spare two bucks. Damn, it had to suck having to drive strangers who probably often smelled funny all around the ever congested streets of the most crowded city in the United States. Oh, well, life was hard. People had to deal with it.

Still happily gnawing on the sweet brown substance in hand, Mello followed Matt, whose eyes were about as huge as tea plates, into the nauseatingly bright, loud, and flashing room ahead.

Azure eyes scanned the myriad of beeping, buzzing, flickering machines suddenly surrounding him as the gaping gamer by his side stared around with huge eyes like a child who had just been told he could have anything in the world's biggest toy store.

The noise was insufferable and the sporadically glaring lights were sure to induce a seizure.

_Dammit, why am I doing this again?_ Mello almost groaned, but reminded himself that it could possibly be fun. Maybe.

He had played some shooting games with Matt before. He could usually win, so he liked those.

Thus, he grabbed his friend's arm due to the probable uselessness of words in this noisy place, and pulled him over-- before he could escape to a game Mello totally sucked at-- to some large booth-looking thing with worn paintings of the evil undead on the sides. Picking up the red plastic pistol, Mello looked at it skeptically, missing the cold weight of his usual weapons, then just shrugged.

"Betcha can't hit as many as me, lazy ass that you are," he half-shouted over the din, grinning tauntingly at Matt.

The gamer smirked wickedly at the challenge.

"Are you kidding me? We're on my turf now. You're on," he boasted, grabbing the dark blue gun from it's holster, spinning it once in the air, catching it expertly in his right hand, and blowing an imaginary puff of smoke from it's barrel.

Mello may trump him in anything else, but this, this was his forte, though admittedly the blonde was exceptionally good at the games of the shooting variety. Figured.

Pshhh. The cheater. He'd had an unfair amount of practice in the Mob. Still, it was always more fun to play a worthy challenger, and so the brunette didn't hold this little unfair advantage over Mello's head.

His jammed some coins into the machine and then focused on the screen as the intro music began to play, and several different types of zombies and monsters filled the monitor, moaning, hissing, and making other such intimidating sounds. The monsters were followed by the arrival of two top secret agents whose job it was to rid the world of the decimating parasites eradicating humanity. Matt's character was a typical agent, good looking, black suit, big gun, nothing really distinctive. Mello's was the same, with a few small differences, like, say, the mini skirt and breasts.

Well, Mello _had_ chosen the red gun. He snickered aloud but otherwise said nothing, waiting for the horrible video game voice actors to stop their insistent whining so that they could get to the real action.

"Remember Mello, you _lose_ points when you shoot the civilians."

It was only fair to warn the blonde, after all, he did want it to be a fair fight, and knowing Mello, the former mafia boss, current bounty hunter, he was probably pretty likely to shoot at anything that moved.

Now, Matt could feel guilt free when the blonde was utterly and completely pwned.

He bit his bottom lip in concentration, eyes narrowed and ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

Mello shot the brunette a quick glance before locking his eyes on the screen as well, aiming the gun expertly. "I _know_ that, Matt," he snapped back testily. "I've played before, you idiot." Yeah, years ago, it seemed. Still, he knew that the people not falling apart and raining rotting bits of themselves while trying to eat him were probably _not_ the zombies he was supposed to shoot. Jeesus, it didn't take a genius to figure out.

Though he was of course a genius.

Smirking rather pompously, Mello watched his side of the screen as the little light in the corner flashed a small "start" sign and the music changed to some corny action tune. Then some hellish fugly things jumped out and he started pulling the trigger madly, vaguely pissed at the fact it didn't work as smoothly as he was used to. It was somehow also _too_ easy to pull, throwing him off somewhat and he cursed loudly when the red flash on the screen let him know he had suffered some sort of damage.

"Hell no, _die_ you fugly bastard!" he growled a little overzealously, shooting offscreen briefly to reload (what a ridiculous way of doing it) and releasing a volley of invisible bullets into the three-headed zombie dog attacking his slim and busty character. With another growl, Mello bared his teeth devilishly, competitive nature kicking in when he chanced a quick glance at Matt's fully green health bar.

Matt stood at the blonde's side emptying round after round of ammunition into every slimy creature that crawled itss way across the screen, expertly avoiding the occasional innocent citizen that seemed to spring up out of nowhere at the most inopportune times.

He cursed aloud as he barely missed throwing a grenade at a tiny pigtailed little girl, but just managed to divert the grenade to the monster behind her at the last minute, gaining an extra health supply, and a gracious, "Thank you ever so much!" from miss pigtails. He reloaded, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face as he noted his near perfect health.

He chanced a glance at his playing partner out of the corner of his vision, and was not surprised in the least to see a look of extreme intensity burning in Mello's icy blue eyes. He felt a strange sense of pride at being able to illicit that look from the over-competitive blonde; after all, though he had witnessed it more times then he could count, it wasn't too often the hardcore gamer was the cause of it, and generally he was glad of that fact.

It was just nice to know that Mello saw him as an equal in at least one thing, even if it was just videogames. There weren't too many areas where the two could be called equivalent to each other. When it came to any kind of technical and computer related issues, Matt knew best, and when it was strategy and physical or mental combat, the blonde always took the lead. Games like these where they could work together and still compete for an individual score were perfect for the two of them.

He cursed once more when his thoughts were interrupted by some kind of giant green puss oozing tree that had managed to do his character damage.

Oh hell no. That tree was going down.

After finishing off the mutated tree, and subsequently the game, the two stood at the machine waiting to see their scores pop up. Honestly he could have cared less, but knew Mello would throw a hissy fit if they moved on to another game without knowing who had "won".

He watched as the scores flashed across the screen, both high scores, very close but separated by a few measly points.

The outcome had been as expected, and Matt grinned broadly as he waited to see the blonde's reaction.

Mello gaped at the screen arms hanging at his sides with one hand still loosely gripping the plastic pistol, and quickly did the math in his head.

He rounded on Matt, seething, "You bastard! You beat me by FOUR points! That is so not right!" He punched Matt's shoulder with an annoyed grunt which almost sounded like a suppressed laugh.

_Fck. Can't believe I got docked for shooting that old man. It was his goddam fault for jumping out right in front if me! _Shaking his head, Mello slammed the pistol back into its little holder in front of the screen. Dammit, Matt wasn't going to let him live this down anytime soon, was he? The cocky bastard...

Heh, Matt chuckled, if only Mello hadn't shot that old man, he might have won the game. It wasn't surprising though, he'd known the blonde was too impulsive to take the time to distinguish friend from foe, and it was pretty hard even for a seasoned player like himself to be prepared for. Ah well, couldn't say he hadn't warned him.

He looked up, gaze wandering all over the arcade, trying to decide which game to play next and felt himself grow giddy once again at the sight of everything that lay before him. He hunted for his next victim, and his eyes lit up as they fell across a particularly spectacular device, or rather two next to each other, with pads that seemed to light up at the foot of the machine, and a screen that flashed multi colored lights in every which was, sure to induce a seizure.

Hell. Yes.

Before the blonde could follow the direction of his gaze, and the train of his thoughts, he had grabbed Mello's arm, and was off in a flash, sprinting for the game before anyone else could claim it.

"Matt, what the f--?" Mello tried to demand of the rabid gamer he had made the mistake of releasing into his element, but didn't manage to get the words quite out before he suddenly found himself on some sort of raised platform and staring at another brightly flashing screen. This time, however, there were no familiar guns nearby.

"Holy--Matt, what the hell?" he glared at the brunette, staring down at the arrows by his feet. He thought he knew, but no... couldn't be... Like hell he'd ever play such a ridiculous--

But Matt had already put in the coins and stepping off now would be the same as giving up. "Shit," the blonde growled under his breath. "What do I do again? Just...step on them?" he demanded of the gamer who was now scrolling through the plethora of obnoxious songs in this game. Jesus, honestly, this was utterly... retarded.

Holding back a laugh at the blonde's obvious confusion (which in Matt's opinion was due entirely to video game deprivation), he momentarily turned his attention from the game settings, to his lost friend.

"Here," he said as he made his way onto Mello's dance pad. He stepped on the bottom arrow repeatedly for a minute before stepping back off, and looking back up at his friend. "All you have to do is make sure you hit the corresponding arrows when the symbols that are scrolling up the page match the arrows at the top."

He didn't bother telling Mello that when he had stepped on his pad, he had switched the blonde to a lower setting of difficulty. He did the same to his own dance pad, knowing that if he played 'difficult mode' while Mello played 'beginner mode', it would seriously tick him off. Instead he'd moved Mello to 'light mode', and himself to 'standard mod.' He had faith that his friend could successfully complete a song on that level, and 'standard mode' for himself was as least still a little challenging.

He selected the song 'Kick The Can,' one of his favorites to play, dropped his jacket to the side, and waited for the game to start.

_Well, this should be interesting_. Another grin plastered itself across his face.

The blonde eyed his friend suspiciously, then glared at his screen, tense and ready. Like hell some little video machine was gonna get the best of him. Matt had already won once. A lot was on the line in this game, like, say, not having to spend the rest of the evening listening to Matt gloat.

Mello cringed when the song started. What an obnoxious piece of shit. Seriously. Matt had no taste in music.

And then the shiny little arrows came up and the blonde barely bit back a curse as he proceeded to stomp on the corresponding light-up arrows at his feet. Damn, the little bastards were coming up the screen fast. He wished he had his plastic gun back. It'd be more fun to shoot them.

"Fck!" he yelled at one point, glancing quickly at Matt. "What do I do when they're all green and long like that?!" He tried holding his foot there, realized it worked, and quickly yelled back, "Nevermind," before Matt could answer. The bastard! He probably looked absolutely ludicrous hopping around on this stupid thing! Damn arrows and lights and shit...

And then, all of a sudden, the arrows went away and Mello stood huffing and glaring murder at the screen that now read "CLEARED" in large orangey-yellow letters.

He was just about to turn and start yelling at Matt for not telling him the exact directions for all the damned arrows when the screen changed again and he couldn't suppress the startled angry shriek that slipped past his lips. "What the fck, a** C**_**?!**__"  
_"Hey, hey! Chill, Mello, a C isn't all that bad, I mean when I first started this thing I failed like the first 20 times!" the brunette appealed to his friend, hands raised in mock defense, but chuckling faintly under his breath.

He lowered his arms as he continued speaking. "And besides, Mel," he grinned, "It's not like you can expect to be as good as me at this kind of thing." The cocky smirk on his face spoke volumes as he went on, seemingly oblivious to the danger that he was walking into, "I mean, I must admit I am a little surprised though, after all that talk, and now having nothing to show for it? Geez Mello, you must be losing your touch or something. Losing, and twice in a row no doubt!"

Maybe it was the fact that the blonde was being unusually nice, or maybe it was just that they were in public and Matt knew Mello wouldn't pull a gun on him in here, but though he wasn't exactly sure what had given him the guts to tease the blonde as such, he was glad of it. It was just way too amusing and way too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Besides, sure Mello would get annoyed, he couldn't actually get mad at the gamer for all of his teasing.

Just for good measure, and because he was unable to resist, he reached out and patted the top of the blonde's hair a few time, smile remaining in place.

Wide blue eyes stared back at him in incensed shock, icy blue fire, as the blonde seethed silently, mouth agape, literally trembling in rage. "Oh, you fcking bastard," he finally managed to hiss, lunging suddenly and shoving the brunette against the metal bar behind the dance pad. He stood there, spluttering random cuss words for lack of anything else to say, still holding Matt pinned hard against the steel, before he finally shoved off, turning on his heel and crossing his arms sulkily. "You're such a cowardly bastard, Matt," he hissed finally, sounding almost offended. "Taking advantage just because you know I won't really kick your ass too bad on your birthday." He shot a glare over his shoulder, blue eyes burning with that _I'm not a loser!_ look Matt knew so well by now, and spat, "But I fcking swear, you just keep pushing me and I might just forget about that, you prick..."

It was Matt's turn to look shocked now, though probably not for the reasons Mello had intended. He stared at the blonde in confusion, mouth slightly open, and eyebrows knit together in deep thought.

"Did you say…" but he cut himself off as everything fell into place in his mind. Mello's reason for being so exceptionally friendly, not to mention merciful. Still even now that he knew, he was a little surprised to have forgotten himself, and couldn't help but voice the only thought circulating in his head at the moment.

"It's my birthday?"

He hadn't meant to yell it as loudly as he did, but he was genuinely shocked to have forgotten. More than that even, he had forgotten and _Mello_ had remembered.

Damn. He was getting old or something, forgetting his own birthday.

The blonde whirled, staring at Matt in utter shock and something close to rage. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he searched Matt's eyes for the truth. Holy hell, he wasn't kidding. The idiot really hadn't remembered.

"You FORGOT?!" he managed finally. "Oh my fcking God, Matt, I am going to rip out your goddam intestines out and strangle you with them!" he cried, lunging for Matt again, looking an odd mix between embarrassed and livid. And he was being _nice_ and _forgiving_ and shit too! And Matt had FORGOTTEN!! He grabbed Matt's vest threateningly, glaring at him with fiery blue eyes. "You are such an insufferable _idiot!!_ What did you think, the goddam _Generosity_ _Fairy_ visited me in the night?! You don't even _deserve_ this anymore, you bastard!"

But the wide-eyed look of shocked surprise as everything dawned on the brunette didn't go away and the huge grin that had spread slowly over his face didn't fade even as Mello slammed him against the DDR machine none too gently.

The blonde blinked, staring at that huge moronic grin and the large green eyes watching him curiously.

Finally, suddenly, a soft bubble of laughter escaped through the angry grimace his lips couldn't quite retain, slowly growing until the blonde found himself gripping the front of Matt's vest no longer in anger but to support himself as an inexplicable wave of mirth hit him and he suddenly couldn't catch his breath from laughing. "Oh...my God...Matt," he managed breathlessly. "I can't...believe-- You fcking... idiot!!"

It took less than 30 seconds for Matt's childish grin to evolve into full-on breath- stopping laughter, a feat that was helped along by merely the sight of the blonde doing the same.

But it was just so…funny!

_I mean, honestly? Who the hell forgets their own birthday?!_

"I…I _am_…an…idiot." he gasped between hysterical laughter, his eyes beginning to water, and his stomach beginning to cramp from the nonstop mirth. He grabbed onto the DDR railing for support as he felt himself nearly fall over, then sat down beside it, forgoing standing altogether. It was just too difficult at the moment.

"Oh God, Mel…I really, I mean…I was starting to think you were…I mean…on crack…or something!…I really…didn't get it!" It was all he was able to get out before the hysterics started again.

It was also then that he realized how completely psychotic they must look to other people around them. Two boys falling over themselves cackling, for seemingly no reason. Boy, they must have made a sight to see. The thought of it only made him laugh harder, and he clutched his stomach in pain as it cramped from the abuse.

God, it was the best feeling in the world.

It was just, so much had happened in the last couple of days, and it felt so good to just laugh like this. It was like, like being high off of something _good_. Just being so incredibly euphoric because sometimes, well, sometimes things were like they'd been a long time ago.

It was a feeling he wouldn't trade for anything else in the world.

After several more moments of it, his stomach couldn't take much more, and he slowly managed to bring himself back under control, though the grin remained intact and whenever he met Mello's eyes, he would release a tiny chuckle.

Damn, this was turning out to be a great birthday.

When he at last felt himself sane enough to move, he smiled brightly in the blonde's direction.

"Where to next? I'll leave it up to you since you are the wonderfully amazing person who brought me here for my birthday." He couldn't resist one last chuckle as he met the blonde's own laughter-filled blue eyes.

The blonde stared back at his best friend's emerald eyes, still trying to suppress what could only be called half-mad giggling, then reached over and slapped Matt on the back, giving him a large wolfish grin.

"If that's a thank you," he smirked, "Then you're welcome… Maybe. Depending on the rest of your cocky little comments tonight."

Mello stood, still smiling the kind of lopsided that seemed like a ghost from the past now, the smile he used to have at Wammy's when he was about to drag Matt into some new mischief, the little smirk he wore when he'd pulled some new prank on Near. He reached down a black-nail polished hand invitingly, helping Matt up, and pulled him toward something that had caught his eye a little earlier. Something he couldn't possibly lose at this time.

"Here," he grinned, pushing Matt toward the enclosed space of the virtual fighting game ahead. "We're playing this next. And you're getting your ass kicked big-time, Birthday Boy." The mischievous smirk plastered on Mello's face brought back memories of so many years ago.

Amusement-filled emerald eyes followed the blonde's gaze to a neon blue enclosed arena and it took the gamer a minute to figure out what exactly it was that he was being directed towards. He allowed Mello to drag him the rest of the way to their destination, still trying to identify exactly what it was. It wasn't until Mello had actually placed Matt on a small red circle drawn on the floor in neon spray paint inside the small arena, and had gone to stand on another circle adjacent to Matt's that the gamer was finally able to recognize the game.

The minute recognition dawned on him he immediately regretted allowing Mello to chose the next game. This, he knew was one game that he could never hope to win against the blonde. In a normal fighting game it would have been no problem, but in a virtual one…well…it didn't take a genius to figure out which of the two was more likely to win in a fight.

He was just glad in the virtual game, neither of them actually inflicted physical damage upon each other. Still, the idea of getting into a physical fight with the other boy made him shutter. Even when they'd been children, Matt remembered the few fights they had had. None of them had ended very pretty. Mostly for Matt.

Shaking his head at such a typical choice of game for the blonde to pick, he readied himself into the fighting stance that the computer tutorial declared best, selected the Chinese fighter chick from the character selection menu, and waited for it to begin.

Mello grinned back at the brunette, reminiscent of a mischievous barracuda, but took no particular "stance." Obviously showing off, he was clearly declaring he already knew the outcome of the 'fight.'  
Well, not that he'd probably ever want to seriously fight Matt, not right now anyway, but it had gone way too far. He needed to redeem himself and this was the quickest way. Matt was decent in a fistfight—the two had had enough of those throughout the years for Mello to know he couldn't take the gamer too lightly—but the blonde knew his own capabilities.  
And his casual stance as he beckoned the brunette with one black-polished finger showed it.  
He gave Matt maybe 3 minutes. Maybe less, judging by how pissed he was to see that Matt had gotten a frikkin' A+ on the game that had given him a C.  
Time for revenge.  
"Bring it on," he smirked.

Matt tried his hardest to resist the immediate impulse to flinch at the way the neon blue lighting glinted of off the blonde's eyes, casting a shadow on Mello's already daunting expression. He tried, and he failed. The blonde was just too damn intimidating!

Grumbling under his breath about the unfairness of fighting an ex-mafia boss, he did his best to ignore the cocky smirk Mello was donning, instead focusing on his character on the screen as he threw his first punch, long and exaggerated, the way the game tutorial had said was best in order for the monitor to pick up the movement.

He was somewhat shocked when it made contact, but before he could relish in his victory, his Chinese fighter girl was hit with an assault of punches to the face and chest that he found himself unable to block. He watched in dismay as his life bar was nearly cut in half, his mouth dropping open a bit n shock at how quickly the little bar had dropped from bright green to glaring red.

He didn't dare chance a glance at Mello's face; he didn't _need_ to look to know that the arrogant jerk was smirking, possibly even laughing at him.

Tightening up his stance, he threw his own volley of attacks at his opponent, even adding a few kicks in for good measure, but was still worried when he saw that Mello's life bar had only decreased by about a fourth of what it had started with.

He groaned, and continued his assault, though most of them were expertly blocked by the blonde.

So all those times Mello went out without telling Matt where he'd gone? Well, now he knew. The obnoxious little cheat had been sneaking out to go to an arcade and practice virtual fighting. There was simply no other explanation.

He cursed aloud when Mello landed a particularly damaging skill on his player.

It only took one more punch to the stomach and it was Game Over. For Matt, in particular.

The blonde stood in the middle of his little red circle, hands resting loosely on his hips, thumbs through the belt loops. He was positively beaming, admiring his near-perfect score and shooting Matt a very falsely apologetic grin that looked much more like the gloating smirk it really was.

Looking back at the screen, Mello checked the timer. 89 seconds. Oh, hell yes. That was less than a minute and a half.

Completely self-satisfied now, the blonde grinned toothily at the gamer with a lazy shrug. "Serves ya right," he drawled, purposefully trying to sound as arrogant as possible. After all, winning brought bragging rights. "Now you have to buy me chocolate," he added happily. Ah, sweet, sweet victory.

"...unless you want to play another round?" The suggestion was more a taunting joke than anything serious since Mello knew Matt would refuse getting his ass so thoroughly kicked a second time in a row.

Matt nearly jumped out of his playing circle at the suggestion, and had to try very, very hard to resist giving Mello the finger. He sent a nasty glare in the blonde's direction, but otherwise didn't give him an answer, instead allowing his gaze to fall on the rest of the arcade. There was no way that he'd let Mello pick the next game.

After about a minute of browsing, he found his next target and promptly scurried towards it in a frenzied excitement, humiliating defeat already at the back of his mind, and a gloating Mello in tow.


	7. Unforgettable

**AN: **Arrgh, sorry this took so long! Here's part 2 of Matt's birthday celebration of awesome!

* * *

It was only after two more hours of shooting terrorists and zombies, riding jet skis, dancing horribly, and generally having fun that the blonde was finally able to drag an exhausted but glowing Matt to a table to take a break.

Matt sighed dramatically as they took their seats at a small stool table, whining under his breath about having to stop for a break. He didn't need a freaking break.

He sipped spitefully at the glass of water that he'd procured from a food vendor in the corner, and tried to distract himself from his lack of game playing by people-watching, though he quickly lost interest, as he couldn't really see any appealing game play from where they were seated. Instead the two were surrounded by a few other tables, one of which was full of a group of adults laughing obnoxiously, having obviously had one too many from the bar available on the second floor of the arcade.

He began to roll his eyes, but stopped mid-roll, paying no heed to the fact that he probably looked like he had something caught in his eyes. _Wait a second_.

He blinked, giving his thoughts a moment to put themselves together.

He may have been idiotic enough to forget his own birthday, but he was not idiotic enough to forget _which_ birthday it was.

He grinned mischievously as he turned to face his blonde counterpart, keeping the corner of his vision on the partying table next to them.

"Hey Mello, " he started, his eyes twinkling roguishly as he continued, "I have an idea."

The blonde blinked at him, following his sights while somehow managing to lounge on the stool as if it were a full-fledged chair. He sucked at his Coke loudly with the straw floating just above the top of the beverage in order to produce annoying slurping sounds he was apparently enjoying for no apparent reason.

"What?" he asked boredly around the straw. Shooting an annoyed glance at the nearby table, he joked dryly, "You want to go get wasted like those morons?"

Matt's grin widened as he met Mello's gaze square in the eyes, and he made up his mind to answer the question truthfully.

"Well, that was my general idea, yes. After all, it _is_ my 21st birthday, and _what_ kind of 21st birthday would it be if we didn't get wasted?" He ignored the fact that he had been drinking long before he'd even been close to 21, then again, with the kind of life the gamer led, it was somewhat excusable.

The brunette frowned as he glanced again at the nearby table before continuing. "Of course, we'd have to find a real bar, there's no way I'd want to get trashed in a place like this."

He grinned impishly up at the blonde as he waited for the negative response he was sure he was going to get. Not that he planned on listening or anything.

"So what do you say?" Green eyes met blue in a kind of daring persuasion.

The blonde's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward on the table, examining Matt as if he were some sort of alien specimen. "But, Matt," he stated seriously after a second. "You already drink. What's the point?"

_Damn._ Mello cursed himself internally. There went his chance. His one viable chance to actually flat-out refuse and say no. But he hadn't. He'd only made a stupid comment that was as close to agreeing or not caring as being silent or outright jumping at the idea.

Well, crap. Now he was in for it.

Oh well. When he thought about it, he hadn't had a drink in a long time. It could be fun. And it _was_ Matt's 21st. Let him do this kind of stuff legally for once.

Mello shrugged, finishing up his Coke with more loud slurping. He loathed smoking, but drinking... Well, he couldn't say he'd ever want to get so wasted he couldn't remember the day before, but he wasn't so opposed to alcohol as to have kept from having some once in a while-- since way before a few months ago, even, when he could "legally" have it. Same concept applied here, he realized, suddenly finding himself very content with the Coke and chocolate bar Matt had been forced to buy him for losing and in an almost amiable mood. He wasn't about to let Matt get "trashed" as he so eloquently put it, but a few drinks would actually be rather nice. After all, who knew how exhausting it would be to play some goddam computer games for a few hours? Jesus, he felt he'd been sparring with a few martial arts experts or something. And with the small twinges of sore muscles and bruises, as well as his cut, from the day before, Mello had to admit to himself at least that he wasn't really too eager to keep this up. A nice relaxing cocktail actually sounded wonderful. And he didn't even have to drive. Excellent.

He grinned. _Matt, you lucky bastard. _"Just don't make a habit out of it, ok?" he snapped finally, standing up and slipping on his coat.

Matt opened his mouth abruptly ready to protest, but then shut it again when the denial that he was waiting for didn't come.

_Wait a second. Had Mello just agreed to actually go?_

The brunette sprang off of his seat, nearly toppling the stool in the process, but managed to catch it with the back of his foot and set it straight.

"Awesome!" he cried above the noisy commotion of their surroundings, still a little shocked that Mello had agreed to go, but not caring to push his luck by asking for clarification.

He pouted then as the blonde's last words caught up with him.

"And of course I won't make it a habit, Geez, Mel, what kind of person do you think I am?" He punctuated this firmly by very maturely sticking out his tongue at the blonde.

The comment had bothered him a little more then he let on, considering the request wasn't really that out of place given his past experience with alcohol. Though that had been a few years back when he'd been living a different life, and it wasn't as though Mello knew about that part of his life, so he let the comment slide and allowed another large grin to fall onto his face.

"Alright then," he continued, tone completely serious but that stupid grin still in place as he slammed his palms down onto the table before his friend.

"It's settled. So I say, we call a cab, and ask them to take us to the closest late night bar in town. Sound like a plan?"

The blonde shrugged in acquiescence. "Whatever," he agreed, eyeing Matt with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.

_Sticking out your tongue, Matt? Yeah, REAL mature. Way to prove your "adulthood" by making faces and suggesting we go get wasted._

"Idiot," he added as an afterthought. "Well, come on. I don't plan to stay 'til morning no matter what you say and it's getting late. Besides, I think this place is closing." (_Thank God, _he thought. True, it had been fun, but still, it really wasn't his cup of tea._) _"Go call that cab."

Matt wasted no time in complying with the blonde's demand, strolling out of the arcade with only a small amount of reluctance, and making his way to the curb to flag down a taxi. He trusted Mello would catch up to him momentarily and was pleasantly surprised to find a taxi sooner then he had expected.

He opened the back door, and slid into the farthest seat as he asked the driver to wait for one more before he took off. The driver nodded in acquiescence and Matt informed him of their destination.

The gamer didn't really have any preferences, except that whichever bar they were going to be taken to, have a decent reputation (popularity wise, _and_ class wise), and he did specify that he didn't want to go anywhere near the Bronx, or any other bad section of town. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to those kinds of places, _hell_, he thought, _they usually had the best clubs and bars,_ but the people who went to the shady side of town were likely to be shady themselves, and considering their new line of work it was probably a bad idea.

Not to mention Mello was ten times more likely to get pissed off at them and start a fight with someone at a bar like that. Not that the alcohol had anything to do with it. Mello just liked starting fights, or at least that's what it seemed like.

He searched the arcade exit for his friend, hoping he wouldn't take too much longer, and was pleased to see him already heading towards the cab.

The blonde slid into the seat next to Matt silently, shooting him a moody glare that suggested he didn't really appreciate Matt running off like that without really waiting.

His mood, however volatile, was still considerably good though and he leaned lazily against the door, watching the dizzyingly bright lights, as downtown New York rushed past, with a sort of musing satisfaction. He liked big cities; they were always so full of things to do and see. He didn't like crowds incredibly much, but he loathed boredom above almost all else and if there was one thing to be guaranteed in a place like this, it was that he'd never be bored for long. Plus, it was a total bonus--in his opinion--that cities like this were generally fraught with criminals, and at the moment to him, that meant money in his pocket.

The thought brought a mischievous smirk to his face. They'd only been here a few days, but so far he was quite enjoying New York.

"So where are we going?" he asked after a few minutes, already getting impatient. "Is it far?"  
The brunette started to reply but found himself stopping when the cab pulled up to a curb and the driver told them they had reached their destination. Matt didn't even have to ask to know who was going to be paying, so he swiftly reached into his back pocket and handed a few bills that he retrieved from his wallet to the driver, sure to include a tip.

He stepped out of the cab shortly after the blonde, his eyes immediately drawn to the bright blue neon lights that spelled out the words 'New York Planet' across the top of the entrance.

Well from the looks of it, this was definitely closer to a club then a bar, but he didn't really care either way.

Besides, the place looked pretty awesome.

He took note of the casual dress of the people walking in and out of the swinging doors guarded by two bouncers, and was glad to see that they would actually fit in pretty well, though he did feel a little out of place with his jeans, not enough to make him turn back though.

His gaze followed the short line that led to the doors, and he turned to his companion.

"Let's go get in line so we can get in as soon as possible." There was no mistaking the eager glee in his expression. The sooner they could get in, the better.

Mello's eyes narrowed at the mention--and sight--of the line but he said nothing about it, scowling to himself about having to wait at all. It didn't look terrible at least. It wasn't like the sort of trashy dumps he'd seen in movies about New York. Of course, this was Manhattan, so that was probably why. Dismissing the thought, he followed Matt toward the entrance, commenting sarcastically, "Wow, what an original name," and earning an annoyed look from one of the bouncers.

He glanced at Matt, who was still grinning like a moron. He had his hand in his pocket like he was just itching to show his ID and get inside. Idiot. He got too excited over the weirdest things. It wasn't like he hadn't used plenty of fake IDs to get into other clubs. In fact, Mello would be willing to bet his entire fortune that the name and age on the card he showed to the large black-suited man wasn't his this time either.

Yawning, the blonde flashed his own fake ID and followed Matt inside, hoping this place at least had decent music, and quickly located the bar.

Matt followed Mello to a couple of bar stools where they both sat down, and he immediately flagged down one of the bartenders.

The bar tender that came their way was a cute redhead, probably no older than twenty three at the most, and Matt wasted no time in flashing her a large grin when she arrived to take their order.

"Hey there fellas, what'll it be?" she asked returning Matt's grin.

Matt already knew what he wanted having had much experience in the field years ago.

"I'll take the Four Horsemen please, and my friend…" he trailed off, motioning to Mello for his answer.

"An African Chocolate Martini with rum," the blonde replied in bored tones, not even looking at the girl as he fiddled with one of the many zippers on his coat, digging around for any leftover chocolate but getting the irritated feeling that he really was all out after all. With an irritated little scowl, he blinked up at the busty redhead and added, "Extra chocolate. And extra of the chocolate shavings on top." _Please_ didn't really exist in his vocabulary and the slightly annoyed look the bartender was trying to conceal made him glare harder at her back.

It was pretty loud and he glanced over, a little surprised (but not badly) to find a live band playing some rock song he'd probably heard on the radio once but couldn't place. Eh, he had to at least admit it wasn't half-bad. The lead singer sounded like he was pushing it a little too much, but the guitarist was mostly covering him up anyway. Overall, it was alright. He decided Matt must've asked the cab driver for a recommendation since Matt probably had much poorer taste. Mello smirked at the gamer, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Stop staring at her ass," he muttered, "Or at least stare discreetly, moron."

The brunette directed an irate glare at the blonde, and flashed him the finger.

"I was not, "He whispered fiercely trying his best not to be overheard by said waitress, a light flush coloring his face, "staring at her ass."

_Though she was pretty hot. _He thought to himself, but decided it best he not add that little bit of insight as it wouldn't do much good for his argument.

His glare vanished instantly when the bartender, who he now noted had the name "Kim" etched onto a black nametag, returned with their drinks. He flashed Kim another smile as she mixed their drinks in a showy display and paid leaving a heavy tip, but otherwise did nothing to leave room for the blonde to make any more suggestive comments.

He sighed, but let the issue go, despite the fact that she winked at him as she walked away to attend another customer.

He wanted this birthday to be all about he and his best friend.

Birthdays were about celebrating making it through another year, right?

Well, considering the fact that the gamer wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for the blonde, he wanted this birthday to be a celebration between the two of them. The thought was enough to stop him from slipping his number to the decently pretty Kim when he paid her, and allowed him to refocus his attention back on his best friend. He owed that and probably much more to Mello.

"Hey," he started, a grin slipping over his features as he lifted his drink towards Mello's, "To making it through all of the shit that we have."

Birthdays were about celebrating making it through another year, right?

Well, considering the fact that the gamer wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for the blonde, he wanted this birthday to be a celebration between the two of them. The thought was enough to stop him from slipping his number to the decently pretty Kim when he paid her, and allowed him to refocus his attention back on his best friend. He owed that and probably much more to Mello.

"Hey," he started, a grin slipping over his features as he lifted his drink towards Mello's, "To making it through all of the shit that we have."

Mello turned blank blue eyes on him, staring at Matt's raised drink silently for a split second.

A split second that was enough for the crushing weight Matt had certainly not intended to accompany his words to hit the blonde with all the force of guilt and pain, the smell of blood and fire and terror.

It was only a spilt second, and the flash of emotions in his crystal blue eyes was all too much and not enough and completely imperceptible, as if it had never been there. As if nothing had happened. As if they hadn't almost...

Tipping his shallow martini glass slightly to knock softly against the glass of Matt's drink, Mello allowed himself to smile slowly.

He took a sip, tasting the sweet burst of ice and alcohol and chocolate.

It tasted of relief. Of victory. Of life. Of trust.

"Happy Birthday, Matt," he congratulated his friend softly, smiling a sort of childish crooked grin that looked out of place on his dark leather-clad and fairly intimidating form. He raised his drink again, and added even more quietly but with strong resolve and a light smirk, as if he meant the words but mocked their dire causes, "To making it through no matter what fcked-up shit we get landed it." He took a long pull at his drink through the little green straw. _To making it through, _his mind echoed, _To life, because it's short and shitty. And to the people worth protecting in this fcked-up world._

He could read the same thoughts in the emerald eyes trying to peer into his own with something a little too sentimental for the blonde to want to dwell on long.

Instead, Mello flashed his sharp white canines again, nodding at Matt. "What are you staring at me like a dipstick for, dumbass? You ain't getting anything else from me for a long time, y'know, so make sure you have a hell of a time here."

--

Amber eyes burned into the back of the leather-clad boy sitting at the bar.

The black haired man's gaze could not be broken, nor could he move. He didn't even get up to clean the shards of broken glass covered in little specks of blood from the shot glass he had shattered in his hand unconsciously upon seeing the blonde. Instead, he carelessly let the pieces fall to the floor, wiping the seeping cuts on his hand onto a blue cloth napkin, all the while his scorching gaze never leaving the man in front of him.

It was him. There was no question about it. Aside from the detail in which Emilia had once described the man to him, he himself had witnessed the blonde twice in his life. There was no mistake about it. It was in the way he sat, as though everyone else in the world was dirt beneath his shoes; the way he moved, languidly, almost elegantly like a panther, or a leopard. Deadly and beautiful, and entirely destructive. No, he could never forget a boy like that.

And that's what he was, a boy, he realized as he gaze lingered on the object of revulsion before him. He couldn't have been even twenty five. He was still a child; the thought fascinated and repulsed him at the same time. To have climbed the political ladder of the mafia at such a young age was unheard of. To have done some of the atrocities that the blonde was rumored of committing was disgusting.

_This…this thing_…he thought to himself, hands clenching until the bite of his nails drew blood from the warm flesh of his palms, _no matter how young or childish it might appear, is nothing but a monster._

The abomination in front of him--sitting so casually, so contentedly at the bar, as though he deserved to be there, as though he wasn't a cold blooded murderer, as though he deserved to be breathing--was none other then the product of his nightmares brought to life.

The one who called himself Mello.

The one who had killed his precious, precious Emelia.

His hands tightened on the napkin he still held, thoughts coming unbidden.

It would be so easy. So incredibly easy to simply walk up and break that silly little slender neck of his. He could stroll up casually, ask for a drink, maybe even whistle a show tune, just for good measure, and then while he waited, he could slip his strong calloused fingers around the exposed bit of pale skin, and just squeeze, squeeze until he watched the life flee from those blue, blue eyes. Squeeze until that body that was so incredibly alive stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Stopped existing.

No one would even notice until it was already done.

His hands fisted tighter, and the blood that had coagulated on his cuts became thick and alive once more, the adrenaline swimming through his body, making his heart pump faster, a steady rising cadence echoing hollowly in his ear drums.

He dragged his gaze away.

No, he could not afford to be so foolish. Sure, he could do it, but that bastard wasn't worth the repercussions it would cause.

He wasn't worth anything.

But still, he would have his revenge. He would see to it that the boy suffered as long and as much as possible. He'd been in the business long enough to know exactly how to cause someone the most amount of pain and instill the least amount of damage.

His eyes flickered like magnets back up to the scene, and something made his thought process stop.

He'd caught a flash of something, something that he would have deemed impossible had he not witnessed it for himself.

The monster had smiled. A real smile. His gaze was immediately drawn to the cause of the phenomenon, only to disappointedly land on a completely normal, if a bit underdressed boy.

There was no carnage, no crime scene. No mortal sin apparent that had caused such a genuine reaction to overcome the boy.

The red head then? He shifted his gaze to the other boy at the bar, no brunette he corrected himself. The boy was exceedingly average. He didn't look like he'd ever even held a gun. Let alone fired one.

But the way that bastard looked at him, the way he laughed so care-freely. The filthy murderer actually had a friend then. He almost dismissed the thought as ludicrous until his mind fully began to comprehend what it could mean.

The corners of his lips pulled up into a well-worn eager grin.

Well, now he was getting somewhere.

--

"Oh, screw you too Matt," Mello drawled, his words just a little slurred, his movements as he raised a hand to catch the bartender's attention just a little too slow. "It's not _my_ fault she left because you were trying to see down her shirt. Or maybe her shift was just over? Oh, don't be a baby," he growled, letting the new--young Latino male--bartender pour some more rum into the thick chocolate syrup he had asked for a bit ago.

It had been a little over an hour already, if he recalled correctly. The clock on the other side of the bar was a little fuzzy, even though Mello had perfect vision. The busty so-called "Kim" from before had left about half an hour ago and Matt was still bitching at him for "scaring her off, dammit." Mello just rolled his eyes at him, lounging on his stool like a large satisfied cat. Ridiculous. So he'd made a few comments, shot her a few glares, so what? Her shift had been over, probably. Big whoop. Matt was just being bitchy for no reason.

"Jesus, _chill out_," the blonde snapped, finally becoming impatient with the unsightly childish pout his friend was wearing as he consumed another shot of whatever "horsemen" were riding in his glass.

"You're still having fun," he growled, more a command than a statement. He bit into the sandwich he'd ordered a few minutes ago with rather vicious gusto, ice-blue eyes glaring at Matt. Little bastard. First he was goddam _flirting_ and as if that wasn't annoying as fck, now he was _sulking_. Mello took his irritation out on the turkey melt in his hands, tearing into it fiercely.

The gamer glared up at the cause of his sulking, but let out a small sigh as he realized the blonde was kind of right.

_I mean, it's MY birthday, and I wanna have some fun damnit! Just because Mello's gonna be a prick, doesn't mean I have to let him bring me down. Besides, like they say, there's plenty of sea in the fish, er, fish in the fish_ he mentally corrected himself, and frowned upon realizing it still didn't sound right, but gave up with a careless shrug._ In fact, _He decided to himself, his mood lifting into something much happier, if not as sane_, since I am SUCH a good friend, I am going to make sure Mello has a great time too._

He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol flooding his veins, or just the idea of Mello having a good time that drove him to do what he planned, but he didn't really care either way, and it was with that mission in mind that he stood up from his seat, staring wildly in one direction, and pointed at a random spot in the crowd, knowing it would be difficult for Mello to pin point exactly where he was looking. Especially since he wasn't actually looking at anybody.

"Oh my God! Mello, did you see that guy?" he stared into the distance, jaw dropped open in disbelief, until the blonde's head swiveled around to follow the hacker's line of sight. If he'd been sober in the least he would have been ashamed for using such an elementary tactic; as he was though, he didn't even notice. When Mello was facing the other direction, he promptly proceeded to pour half of his drink into the other's chocolate syrup concoction. Even as far gone as he was, Matt knew enough to know that at this point the blonde wouldn't be able to tell the difference. He giggled aloud to himself, then grinned up at Mello as he threw the gamer a "what the hell?" kind of look, to which Matt responded with a nonchalant shrug, and turned again to face the dance floor.

He watched in fascination as the bodies on the floor seemed to all unite and move as one single unit. The forms twisting in every direction to the rhythm of the music, arms and legs pumping and writhing to the beat of every drum. The scent of heat, sweat, and ecstasy that was emitted from the tangle of limbs drifted towards the bar for a moment, and beckoning to the gamer.

"Hey, Mello!" he whined, tugging lightly on the blonde's bare arm, "Let's go dance!"

Mello turned his head to shoot the coldest glare he could muster--a bit of a more difficult feat than usual, given that his eyes had some trouble focusing-- at the gamer, wrenching his arm away. "What the fck?" he spat. "I do not have any intention whatsoever of throwing myself into that mindless mass of fools. They're way too close together," he added firmly, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Well, to him it was anyway. He didn't like being touched, and by strangers at that. The idea was revolting. Honestly, he liked the music, but if there were _people..._

"Count me out," he growled, turning back to his drink, shoulders a bit hunched protectively. Fing Matt with his spontaneous stupid ideas. He scooped some of the thick chocolate concoction in his cup into his mouth with the end of the straw, then-- realizing it wasn't as thick as he'd thought--settled for titling the glass up to his lips and letting the liquid slowly ooze toward his mouth instead.

He shot another glare at Matt, who was reaching for him again, and kicked him in the shin to make him back off. Matt _knew_ he didn't like being close to people. Was he really _trying_ to piss him off?

And why was he grinning like that?

Scowling into his martini glass, Mello licked his lips slowly. It tasted... better? Nah, he was just getting pissed off and the chocolate was calming. He took a larger gulp, tilting his head back since it was still a pretty thick substance and the cup needed to be turned almost upside down so he could get the last of it.

He licked his lips again, blinking dumbly at the now-empty glass in his hands. Well, shit. He licked at the rim, suddenly confused as to why it was gone so fast. Maybe another...

Mello lifted a pale arm languidly, drawling commandingly toward the waiter, "More chocolate syrup."

"Er, you want anything with that, sir?" the man asked skeptically, though he already knew the answer.

Mello grinned. "A cherry."

He smiled happily as his cup was refilled with pure Heaven. Then he remembered Matt. Blinking around in confusion again, Mello tried to locate his friend who had been silent too long now. "Matt?" Maybe he'd ditched him and gone to the dance floor after all. He'd meant to shrug that off and think it was better for him that way, but somehow the thought made him angry. "Bastard," he growled, pushing himself up from the stool and grabbing his chocolate-in-a-cup, ignoring the bartender's protest that drinks weren't allowed on the dance floor.

Matt watched from his place against the wall as Mello got up to seek him out, as he had known he would. The gamer grinned as he left his spot and strode up behind the blonde, and hooked his own black and white clad arm through his friend's. Something in the back of his head screamed a warning at him at the physical contact with the easily irritated blonde, but he ignored it, shooing it away with a mental wave in favor of using what little of his mind was properly functioning for more beneficial uses. Like scoping out the best spot on the floor to dance.

He casually allowed his arm to drop, avoiding Mello's expression. He must have caught his friend a little off guard, he judged by the way the blonde had given an almost imperceptible jump, and cursed aloud, a feat that in any other setting could have been fatal, and while some part of him registered that little bit of information, right now the only thought that came to his mind was, _Ha ha! I must be the only hacker that is a total ninja. Bam! I am awesome_.

He laughed a bit to himself as he continued to look for a good spot in the crowd, and then stopped and gave an "oh!" of surprise and triumph. Damn, that was a good spot. Right between that cute little blondie and her black haired Latina hottie of a friend. He didn't leave time for protest before he hauled Mello over to his destination, letting go of him once again when he made eye contact with the two girls dancing unaccompanied.

He greeted them with a simple, "hey," just loud enough to be heard over the pounding of the music around them.

They both answered with a simple smile, and it was enough of an invitation for Matt to begin dancing right alongside the two welcoming pretty girls.

Blue eyes widened, blinking slowly as he suddenly realized where he was. WTF?! One second he'd been by the bar, now he was in this mass of goddam people and the moving limbs and body heat and... Ugh, he wasn't sure if he was going to be sick or if maybe he'd just had too much to drink.

_Impossible_, his mind tried to tell him thickly as Mello watched Matt with the inexplicable and sudden intense urge to start laughing uncontrollably. He'd only had a bit of rum. No way he could be drunk.

Haha, but Matt looked really funny. He'd never seen Matt _dance_ before and the sight made him want to giggle. The small part of Mello that actually caught that train of thought was utterly repulsed by it, but logic was quickly deciding to take a nap somewhere in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening and he was vaguely pissed and vaguely amused to find Matt poking him in the ribs and hissing something in his ear. It took him a second to notice due to the blinding mutli-colored lights that kept stealing his attention, that there was a small dark-skinned girl sidling closer to him, her hips moving rhythmically with the music. Mello watched her for a second, faintly curious to see what she was trying to do. Her long, straight raven-colored hair swayed and moved around her body like a wispy, inky silk cloak and he felt it brush his arm.

He moved back a little at the contact, scowling at her, but she did not back away, her full, dark red lips curving into a beckoning smile.

Shit, what was he supposed to do?! He cast a quick perplexed glance at Matt for help...

...And the bastard _pushed him into her._

Mello almost let out a yelp when the girl put her hands on his chest, stroking the leather and smiling enticingly at him, as Matt fing _leered_ and reached for her blonde companion's waist. Blue eyes wide and confused, Mello suddenly found himself with his own hands being held to the slim waist of the Latina girl pressing against him and trying to get him to move with the music. His mind was slow and fuzzy and he wasn't quite sure if he was panicking or enjoying himself as he shot a look at Matt as if to rescue him. He couldn't pull a gun here... he couldn't beat a woman off of him... he may be a self-admitted psychopathic freak but he didn't beat up on girls...!

Matt nearly choked on air when he saw the panicked look on Mello's face.

_Sure, give the guy a gun and he's right at home, but hand the guy a girl, and he's clueless._

_God, that was just __**so**__ typical Mello._

Matt shook his head, grinning like an idiot and focused his attention back on the sweet young blonde dancing in his own arms. She was cute, nothing special, but cute. Pretty little gold ringlets framing her round face and spilling over her back, and deep hazel eyes that practically would have shone in the dark for how much they were glowing with amusement. Yes, definitely cute, though her dark featured friend was the real catch.

What the hell, he figured, he was in a giving mood, and thought he'd be nice and let Mello have fun with that one. Besides, she'd been eyeing Mello when they walked up, not Matt.

He chanced another glance at his friend only to find that Mello had somehow wound up facing the other direction, and his facial expressions were no longer available to the gamer, though he could at least tell that the girl was having a good time, if her grin was anything to go by.

_Aw, well, He'll manage on his own for a while._

The hacker switched his concentration back to his own partner once again, and he allowed himself to get lost in the music. His hips swayed in time with the beat, and he laid his hands on the small of the girl's back, content to let their bodies sway as one. They both wore identical grins, and he was suddenly very glad he'd picked this one to dance with.

Unconcerned with the stupid look on Matt's face at the moment, Mello had his own problem to handle-- specifically a rather private-space-invading, big-hipped, full-lipped female problem.

She just kept fcking _staring_ at him with those deer-like dark brown eyes of hers and goddam _reaching_ for him.

Oh, for the love of Christ! Didn't she fing know the _man_ was supposed to lead? He'd look like a goddam pansy if some girl was leading him to dance. Little bitch...

Mello let out a soft growl, meeting her eyes with his own icy blue glare. He saw her freeze for a second, a cold, self-satisfied smirk slipping onto his lips. Well, fck, if she wanted to play like that, he could play too. The physical contact still bothered him a bit, yet the odd, spreading, warm sensation made him feel somewhat giddy and somehow accentuated his senses. The music pumped in his ears, beat strong and wild, guitar and drums and bass vibrating loudly all around.

He may not always be in the mood for dancing, but Mello had never denied he liked _music_, loved to feel the bass pounding in his head and the scream of the guitar, the systematic slam of the cymbals.

"You dance like shit, little lady," he spat, voice cold yet that grin still playing on his lips. "It's not about just moving your ass side to side, and it's not about fcking _groping _your partner. Hands off, got it?" He pushed her away, not too roughly but firmly, deciding to ignore her until she learned to dance properly.

He'd come to clubs before. Music was fun, music was addictive, music was life. No, he didn't come to get all touchy-feely with people, it just wasn't his style. A couple shots of rum or gin, and if he felt like it, he'd hit the dance floor by himself and he couldn't give a flying rat's ass if people stared at him. If anyone approached him, he'd usually scare them off with a deranged grin or perhaps elegantly retreat back to the bar if he was tired, but it all depended on his ever-volatile moods.

And right now, it was all about that ear-bleedin' guitar solo throbbing in his head and the lead singer rasping out something that may have been notes but sounded raw and full of emotion and somehow more alive.

Cold blue eyes cast a bored glance at the hurt and surprised girl he'd just stepped away from and Mello flashed her white canines tauntingly, the warm sensation is his stomach spreading to his chest, through his veins like fire and it made him feel relaxed and more at ease than just a few minutes ago. So Matt wanted him to dance?

Fine.

His body moved, snakelike, lithe and smooth and fluid with the music. He didn't even know this song, but he decided he liked it. He also liked the bewildered look his would-be dancing companion was giving him. He smirked, hair swaying around his shoulders like a thick halo, thin wisps clinging to the moisture gathered on his neck and cheeks from the body heat, and he brushed it back with a fluid motion of his hand, black-polished fingernails raking lightly though the golden strands before the movement was lost in the rest of his body's motions and he smiled, self-satisfied and warm and mind suddenly blank and pleasantly fuzzy.

Something in the back of his head was telling Mello he was drunk; something else was arguing that it just wasn't possible. A third voice was shouting for him to kick Matt's ass for some reason, aggressive and defensive and annoyed. He told his mind's resident voices to shut the fck up and grinned wolfishly at the girl.

"Music... becoming a physical sensation, an embodiment of the rhythm, _that_ is what dancing is, you ignorant broad."

The gamer watched in something akin to stunned amusement as Mello ditched his dancing partner, opting instead to dance alone.

He and the girl in his arms, who he had learned was named Rosie when she had giggled it into his ear, had both turned to watch the other two, having seen them separate. The two of them watched, Rosie suddenly maddeningly giggly at the sight of her dark haired friend's rejection, and the gamer suddenly amused for inexplicable reasons.

_But damn, Mello was a good dancer!_ His mind declared, recognizing even through the alcohol-induced haze the rarity and incredulity of such a sight. He stared unabashed at the leather-clad form that was starting to draw a small crowd, though the blonde seemed unaware.

It was like watching the flames of a fire licking up every drop of creation in its path, as bystanders were equally intimidated and stunned into stillness, content instead to watch the oblivious performer. Beautiful, and deadly, and only aware of himself, without a thought of anything else in the world but to remain blazing, and alive.

He blinked, closing his eyes slowly and reopening them if only to ensure that he was not seeing and illusion created by his foggy inebriated mind.

He took a step back from Rosie, gently disentangling himself from her lithe arms and giving her one last smile, before he took his leave, edging closer to small circle that had once again resumed their dancing, if at a slower pace that allowed them to leave their eyes trained on the unaware attraction who entwined himself so perfectly with the music.

A somewhat strange and yet at the same time completely expected magnetism drew the hacker closer to the dancing blonde, loving Mello's ability to let go for once, and at the same time, feeling himself sober a bit at the sight, emerald eyes scanning the crowd thoroughly, _just in case_.

Satisfied that his paranoia was only a reaction to over protective instincts working double time (they were now working alone to cover two, after all), the gamer watched his friend with that same giddy happiness that had refused to leave his system all night, and some different kind of fondness. He smiled.

At the sight of Mello letting his guard down, a small ache in his chest seemed to relax, a funny thing since he hadn't noticed it until that moment. He grinned stupidly, his gaze still lingering on the gracefully twirling blonde, taking in the moment, the laughter and music, drinking in darkness, lights, Mello, and this unforgettable feeling of _life_, life he thought he had given up on.

He was 21, an age he would have bet all of his games on two years ago, that he would never live to see. Mello was with him, and he was _happy, _as much as he could be anyway, and they were both _alive_. He realized, swallowing hard over the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, that things hadn't been this way for a long time.

He had never expected them to be this way ever again.

But they were.

The grin on his face practically exploded, as a deep sincere laugh rose up from his throat.

Things were good, and they were only going to get better.

It was a nice thing to look forward to, and a feeling he hadn't really genuinely felt in a long time.

"Happy Birthday, Mail," He voiced aloud to himself, calling himself by his own name for the first time in over a decade.

It felt nice.


	8. Unamused

**AN: And we finally move toward our true plot and conflict... Speaking of conflict, there will be plenty in the next chapter... And it only gets darker from there, so I hope you enjoyed the fluff while you could...**

**Oh, and also another original character to help out our antagonist is introduced in this chapter. Enjoy, and as usual, please review! (And a HUGE thanks to all our reviewers and subscribers as well!)**

* * *

A soft groan escaped his lips as he disentangled a pale arm from the blanket to throw over his tightly shut eyes, blocking the tendrils of sunlight pricking his eyelids. Mello turned over roughly, burrowing into the covers and letting out another moan, golden strands wisping across his face and sticking out at angles from beneath the pillow he dragged over his throbbing head.

Throbbing...

Mello cracked open an eye, squinting into the striped sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds. The angle suggested it was late afternoon. The muffled snoring by his side informed him Matt was still asleep. The angry growl his stomach let out told him he was hungry. And the thick pulsing headache in his temples...

Wait, why the f-ck was his head throbbing like that?

Another throaty groan slipped past his lips and he tried to sit up slowly, blinking stupidly around the room. Vague memories of last night whirled in his head in multi-colored hues, strong drum-beats, and chocolate rum. Somewhere in there was also the fuzzy remembrance of a certain brunette nearly losing his dinner in the bathroom sink and having to be dragged away and into a cab that smelled like feet where he had practically passed out on Mello's lap.

The blonde started to give a loud yawn -- then stopped abruptly, wincing as a twinge in his temples let him know his head wasn't particularly pleased with the noise.

He turned foggy blue eyes on the bit of striped arm and red-brown hair peeking out from beneath a steadily snoring pile of covers and pillows, peering at them balefully as it slowly dawned on him.

Holy shit, he had a hangover. Wait... how? He'd only has two or three small shots of rum. He was the first to admit he didn't have a strong stomach for alcohol, but c'mon, a f-ckin' 12-year old girl wouldn't even be this affected by such a measly amount!

Maybe he just had a head cold...?

A suddenly very loud, grunting snore from the pile of pillows sent a sharp pang of pain into his head as Mello's still-lethargic senses protested the noisy abuse. Nope, definitely hung over. F-ck.

"Goddamn it, Matt," Mello growled, gritting his teeth at the persistent throbbing in his temples. Extricating a bare leg from beneath his own mass of covers, the blonde delivered a sharp kick into where he judged the gamer's side should be. "F-ck you, Matt, get your ass up!" he hissed, golden hair in utter disarray and looking for all the world like Hell's palest and scrawniest demon of death in a huge gray t-shirt and red boxers.

Matt woke cursing as a sharp jab made contact with his side, jarring him from his dreams, and forcing him to his feet immediately.

"What the hell?" he cried, trying to figure out what on earth he'd done to deserve such a wake up call.

He instantly regretted the sudden movement, along with the volume of his own voice. His head protested, sending a wave of dizziness to wash over his already disoriented state of being and the queasiness welling in his stomach wasn't helping. The gamer barely managed to suppress the urge to gag when his over responsive senses caught whiff of days old chocolate, an aroma that normally didn't bother him, but at the moment caused him to hold one hand over his mouth and nose, trying in vein to block out the nausea inducing stench.

"F-ck!" He whispered vehemently as the pounding in his head seemed to multiply ten fold when the smallest sliver of sunlight reached his eyes.

The noises were too earth shatteringly loud, the light too disgustingly bright, and the morning too damn early.

He moaned as he sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to move his head anymore then absolutely necessary, and letting out an unhappy moan as he attempted to coerce his head into ceasing it's rebellion.

He remembered now how much he f-cking hated hangovers.

He felt like he'd been hit wit a semi, carrying cement, hauling a cruise liner behind itself, and he wanted nothing more then to go back to sleep for another ten hours or so.

He had a feeling though, judging from the glacier melting glare that he was receiving from the other occupant of the room, that such a luxury was not an option.

"What, "he started, irritation building in his voice as he went on, "The hell is your problem?"

Mello scoffed. "Judging by your sorry state, I assume you feel about 20 times worse than I do, since you had about 20 times more alcohol," he muttered, slowly pulling himself out of bed and slinking over to the window to draw the blinds shut as far as possible. No use. Damn sunlight still found cracks to peek through.

He glared at the window for a second, then turned a slightly disoriented grimace toward Matt.

"Shit, Matt, what the hell? I've never gotten hung over from such a small amount before," he complained, joining his companion on the edge of the bed and staring in annoyance at the pile of Matt's socks peeking out from beneath his own discarded leather vest from before. Damn, he didn't even remember changing. He hardly remembered anything.

Something about the bar and the club and dancing...

And shit, Matt was breathing too loudly.

He turned a deadly scowl upon the gamer. "Hey, Matt, you f-cking asshole," he hissed, another foggy memory swimming into his mind like a lost tadpole. Vaguely, very vaguely, he thought he recalled Matt pointing and turning and distracting him for just a second... and then after that for some inexplicable reason he'd gone to the dance floor and... What the f-ck? But it was the distraction that caught his attention now and Mello's icy eyes bored into Matt's unfocused green ones.

"You f-cked with my drink, didn't you?" he growled, fist clenching on the sheet. _Goddamit Matt, that wasn't funny!_

Matt froze, conflicted for a second, torn between denying the obvious truth, and coming clean. After a moment of inner debate, he shrugged in admission, though probably more from the realization that Mello wouldn't believe him if he tried to lie anyway.

_Besides, _he thought to himself with a grimace, _I have a better chance of Mello relenting if I fess up to the deed. It was a relief that his pounding head could use._

"Yeah, so? You had a good time didn't you? I mean, it's not like it was that big of a deal."

He rose from the bed slowly, searching the room for wherever the hell he'd discarded his goggles the night before when he must have stumbled into the room in a daze. He decided they would be helpful right about now with the sun filtering through the cracks of the shutters, blinding his vision, and contributing to the rhythmic pounding of drums against his skull.

He didn't remember taking the damn things off, let alone where he had put them.

Hell, he didn't even remember leaving the club.

After searching fruitlessly for a few seconds, he turned to the still fuming Mello, ignoring the glare sent his way.

"You seen my goggles?" He inquired, using one hand to shield his eyes from the attack of lethal sun rays.

The blonde shot him a bloodshot look of death. "Who the f-ck do you think I am, Matt?" he snapped. "Your maid? I don't keep track of your belongings! And it's not my goddam fault you don't either. Look, we've only been here a few days and the place already looks like a f-cking pigsty," He stared around distastefully for a few seconds, then pushed himself up and off the bed, wandering over to a cabinet near the door to the adjoined bathroom, burying his head inside and rummaging around for a minute before he dragged out an armful of fresh towels, cursing under his breath about bastards who spiked people's drinks.

He dumped them on the bed temporarily, blinking around in slight confusion again, not because he was confused so much as because thoughts didn't really appear to be in the mood to form coherent trains right now.

Oh yeah. Clean clothes. Of course.

Mello commenced a quiet-as-possible rummage through the dresser and closet in an attempt to locate his own belongings while shoving Matt's out of the way, grumbling and cursing to himself. "Jesus, no f-cking wonder you keep losing shit, Matt," he growled under his breath, pulling out a clean black turtleneck for himself. It was cold, and like f-ck he was going to add a cold to his body's list of irritations. "Try searching on the dresser if you can find the top of it, anyway."

The blonde shot a scowl at the gamer around his own arm as he tugged the large t-shirt off, noting vaguely the large picture of a scantily-dressed woman with a gun on the front which claimed she was some manner of evil resident or something... though it failed to mention resident of where. Eh, whatever.

Which reminded Mello of something. He straightened, dropping Matt's borrowed t-shirt on the bed and blinking into space for a few moments before the thought returned to him. Oh. Right. They'd be returning to LA soon, probably, now that the case was over. He had been originally planning to ask Matt to get them tickets back sometime this week, but as he watched the gamer weave around, disoriented and squinting around for his goggles, Mello sighed and decided he'd ask tomorrow.

He found his anger had diminished somewhat as he scooped the towels and clothing into his arms and trudged toward the bathroom with a yawn.

"Taking a shower," he announced the obvious. "Don't go back to sleep," he added sharply, scowl returning darkly when he barely avoided stepping on a gameboy. "And try cleaning up this mess or we're both gonna trip and die, you hungover clumsy bastard."

Matt sent a silent glare in the direction of the blonde's retreating back, his plan to go back to sleep the minute Mello left the room thwarted by the parting command.

Was he really that predictable? The gamer shook his head at himself before turning his eyes to the unmade, extremely inviting pile of blankets on the bed.

For a minute he debated going back to sleep and disregarding the blonde's words, but eventually decided it wasn't worth the trouble it would inevitably cause, especially considering Mello's mood this morning.

Well, more like afternoon really.

He glanced to the digital clock by the side of the bed and the bright numbers steadily blinking 2:49 confirmed his suspicions. The faint glow of the numbers also reminded him that he was still without his beloved goggles.

Sighing, he began to scavenge through the cluttered mess on the floor, crawling through the jumbled mess and groping half blindly through squinted eyes. Godamn sun.

After several minutes of crawling about and cursing fervidly under his breath, he gave up, and could only assume that the goggles were not there.

He stood, brushing dust and crumbs off of his hands and knees and made his way into the living room. Ambling into the room with a hand carefully shielding his eyes from the sun's blistering rays that continued their relentless pursuit, the gamer finally located his goggles when a particularly sneaky beam of light bounced off of the orange lenses and into his already aching eyes.

He reached for the protection with a sigh of relief, sliding the goggles over his head, and feeling almost instantly better when his world returned to a familiar burnt red.

His fingers grazed the lenses softly, and he smiled at the comforting feel of smooth plastic beneath his bare fingers.

His headache had finally receded some, but Matt was eager for the remaining pounding to leave him and sauntered into the kitchen with every intention of doing something about it.

Opening the fridge and peering inside, the gamer was relieved to remember that Mello had gone on a grocery run a few days ago. He frowned for a moment before pulling out what he would need, the orange juice carton, a few lemons, and the from the counter next to the stove the salt shaker that had been there when they'd gotten there along with a few other condiments, courtesy of Near.

He pulled two glasses from the counter (dishware also courtesy of the white haired boy), and poured two glasses of the juice, squeezed a few lemons into both, and finally added a dash of salt to the concoction.

He set one glass on the kitchen table, and took the other for himself, taking a swig and nearly draining more then half in one gulp.

He pursed his lips together at the taste, but took another drink.

One hundred percent sure to work hangover remedy, copyright Matt.

Hey, when you were a borderline (borderline?) alcoholic for more then a year, finding a good remedy to get you back on your feet as quickly as possible (even if it was only so he could get trashed again as quickly as possible) was vital.

He polished off the rest of his drink before meandering over to the couch and half sitting, half falling onto it.

Screw cleaning, he could do it later.

He settled himself into the cushions, and reached for the pack of cigarettes that he knew was somewhere around the floor of the couch, but then decided against it, a vague recollection of his thoughts from the night before coming back to him.

He couldn't remember exactly what he'd been thinking given his rather, eh, inebriated state of mind at the time, but the basic idea remained. The idea that he and Mello were, well, were survivors. There was really no other way of putting it.

They'd survived Kira, and were alive and kicking enough for Matt to celebrate another year.

And despite the fact that he'd ignored and disregarded everything about cigarettes that Mello had been telling him for years, somehow, it didn't feel right anymore.

He eyed the package with some odd mix of remorse and disgust.

He knew that what Mello and everyone else had always told him about smoking was true, always had known, it was just it had never mattered before.

Because before, when anyone yelled at him about slowly killing himself he only laughed bitterly, knowing that chances were he was going to die a long time before anything that tobacco could do to his body could take hold of him. And chances were his death was going to be anything but slow.

He was pleasantly surprised to find himself wrong, if barely, and he flinched slightly at the memory of how close he had come to death, his hand brushing his chest lightly where a bullet had entered and become lodged beneath his collar bone what must have been less then two years ago but seemed like more than a lifetime ago.

No, it wasn't right to kill his body like that anymore, with nothing but a meaningless habit, not after everything he'd survived.

It would have been extremely stupid to survive Kira, being a bounty hunter, and everything else that he'd been through only to succumb to some self-inflicted disease.

That just wouldn't do, and with a flick of the rest he dropped the carton on the ground with every intention of trashing them later. He'd have to go out and buy some of that nicotine gum for sure though, he thought.

Withdrawals were going to be a bitch.

Matt sighed for the umpteenth time, and reclined his head against the pillows waiting for the blonde to finish with the shower. He grimaced at the tang of dried sweat that clung to his skin from the night before and wished that Mello would hurry up already.

- - - - - - - - - -

Dark chocolate eyes intently watched the screen of the laptop sitting on the desk beneath the large window of the tiny one-room apartment. The afternoon light streamed in at an angle to dance with a faint orange glow upon the thick river of ebony hair which spilled over the young woman's shoulder and cascaded to her slim waist.

An eager smile played on her lips, brown eyes darting toward the opposite building visible through the good-sized window, staring fixedly at the for a few moments at the tightly drawn blinds on the first floor apartment directly across the street from her.

From here, she could only barely make out the tiny spot on the windowsill which was currently transmitting the image visible on her computer screen. It was a very small camera after all, and even knowing exactly where it was, it was difficult to locate.

Still, she thought idly, she was lucky the current residents of the apartment the camera was monitoring had been stone-cold drunk last night or she'd never have been able to do it. After all, she wasn't too used to spying on people, actually; her cousin had other people for that.

But this time she'd volunteered eagerly for the job.

The girl grinned, scooping some whipped cream into her mouth from the end of the straw on her Starbucks Frappucino (never mind the snow outside; Frappucinos were good year-round) which declared in loopy writing on the side that her name was "Tammy."

No, this time was different. This time, she'd practically begged to do this, despite Paul's protests andshe grimaced in remembrancehorror stories.

Something about what "that bastard" was "capable of," what he'd do to her if she was caught, vivid descriptions of exactly the kinds of cruelty Paul would "not put past him."

But regardless of her cousin's warnings, she had insisted and he had finally relented and here she was, and perfectly willing to risk it just for the giddy, guilty pleasure bubbling in her stomach now as her eyes shifted back to the screen and s/he watched the golden-haired object of her fascination slowly waking up and blinking dazedly around the messy shared apartment bedroom.

Tammy licked the whipped cream off her lips with a devious shine in her dark eyes.

Last night, she had merely dragged her too-uptight cousin to her favorite nightclub in order to try to get him to have some fun for once. She'd never expected… this.

But when that fascinating creature had sauntered through the door and lounged in the bar sipping chocolate rum, she had not been able to pull her eyes away.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seenand Tammy had seen her fair share of men.

The way the multihued lights had reflected in his hair as in a golden mirror, shining darkly on the slick leather of his clothing, his pale skin practically glowing in the dimness.

The way he moved, confidently, proudly, smoothly, like a self-assured black panther on the prey.

The way the tight leather molded to his hips, showed off the well-toned muscles in his chest, hugging his thighs, leaving little to the imagination yet allowing so much to be desired.

The way his golden hair swayed and flowed, framing his smirking face, that mysterious scar which only added to his intrigue, the way his knee-high black boots clicked softly when he walked, the sweet cacao aroma on his breath when he spoke, voice like velvet steel.

Even the way he flashed a frosty smile, and rejected her coolly, and teased and danced like the flames of desire right before her eyes without giving a damn what anybody ever thought.

The dark eyes glued to the screen shone covetously.

Tammy was the first person to admit she had a fondness for the _different_, even the eccentric, and that she had problems with becoming very obsessive about her latest attractions. And of course she also loved supernatural Gothic novels and movies and games…

God, he looked as if he had just stepped out of _Devil May Cry_, silver crucifix and all, as if he was about to start shooting demons or something…

Tammy had wanted to stop, stare, and drool right then and there, but Paul had put an end to her fantasies as soon as he'd recognized the "villain." He was the enemy… the cause of all their grief. Tammy understood that.

Well, that was fine then. It didn't mean she couldn't enjoy herself anyway. So she couldn't have him? Ok. She settled instead for spying on him and sipping at her coffee and staring at the screen, entranced.

The boys were awake now, the beautiful demon-hunter and his plain boring friend. It seemed they were arguing for a bit, and judging by their dead-give-away dazed expressions and overly photo-sensitive squinting around the already-dim room, they were clearly pretty hung over.

Tammy laughed, noting how utterly adorable the blonde was in his pajamas. A few seconds later, however, she almost choked on her drink in delight as the gorgeous male actually began to divest himself of said sleeping garments…

Eyes wide and eager, Tammy let herself gape appreciatively at the pale, sculpted bare chest of her new obsession, admiring the porcelain skin, noting the scattered white scars which decorated his back, old and faded but only gracing his figure with more unique flavor in her opinion.

Slightly disappointed when the attractive sight was hidden behind an armful of towels and slipped into the other room to shower, Tammy leaned back in her chair, smiling eagerly and running her tongue along the edge of her plastic cup to collect the last bits of cream clinging to the rim.

Oh yes.

This Mello was definitely something special. Stunning. Unique. Delicious.

A rare eye candy Tammy Mercado was quickly beginning to crave.

She knew what he was, what Paul thought of him, didn't even really care either way though she knew her cousin only wanted him dead.

None of it mattered as long as she got to drink her fill of that slender body with its fluid serpentine motion and smooth porcelain skin and hair the color of the summer sun.

Eye candy.

Her tongue slipped over her lips to catch the last bits of sweet cream. Delicious.


	9. Unraveling

**AN: And now it begins to get depressing... The rating may change to M for violence later, by the way. As always, thanks to all our readers and remember that reviews are always very greatly appreciated! **

The door from the bedroom creaked open at about a quarter to four in the afternoon and Mello slipped out into the living room with a decidedly sour scowl on his face, still toweling off his hair and now nursing a stubbed toe.

Matt hadn't cleaned shit.

His eyes lighted on the couch, at the steadily snoring gamer sprawled out upon it with one arm hanging over the edge next to a pack of cigarettes, and Mello barely resisted to the urge to go kick the lazy bastard in the head right then and there.

"What the f-ck, Matt?!" he yelled instead, throwing his damp towel--it being the most readily accessible object around-- at the sleeping boy's face angrily and tromping over to the couch to shake him awake. "I told you not to go to sleep, you bastard!"

The hot shower having eased the throbbing in his head enough for him to raise his voice somewhat, Mello used the opportunity to also point out that Matt hadn't cleaned anything either and he'd tripped over his shit on the floor and, hey, was he even listening?!

Blue eyes flared angrily. "Matt!"

The gamer shot to his feet, nearly falling on his face when he sprung off of the couch and onto the carpet. It took him a moment to remember what he was doing on the couch, and when he did, his gaze jumped to Mello's icy blue eyes that were currently skewering him alive.

He gulped, not liking the enraged glare sent his way, and suddenly glad that Mello didn't have a gun on him at the moment as he wasn't very fond of staring down the barrel of a 44 caliber, even if he knew the blonde wouldn't actually pull the trigger.

This was definitely one of those moments where Mello would pull the gun had it been in his possession at the time. He could tell from the infuriated look on the blonde's face.

He felt a sudden wave of irritation wash over him, a startling change from the guilt he'd been feeling just seconds ago. But then, what did he have to feel guilty about?

_I haven't done anything wrong!_ The thought came bursting into his head and he knew it was true. Sure he'd messed with Mello's drink the night before, but they'd had a good time hadn't they? No harm done! It was like the blonde was just looking for a reason to argue.

Really, it was getting kind of old being yelled at for no reason, and that seemed to be the only thing Mello had been doing all morning.

Perhaps it was this thought, or possibly the lingering effects of the hangover, he wasn't sure which, but rather then apologize to avoid an argument like he would usually do, he didn't bow his head this time, instead lifting his gaze to meet cold blue dead on.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" His own eyes were emerald steel. He was tired of always being the one to compromise. Tired of having to watch his step with every word lest he offend the blonde.

He did just about f-cking everything for Mello, and he neglects a chore for fifteen minutes and gets his head bitten off.

The blonde's eyes narrowed skeptically, as if now adding _"complete simpleton"_ to Matt's list of offenses for the day.

"What's my _problem_?" he repeated with a snort, impatiently smoothing the woven turtleneck over his chest as if itching to grab something else and throw it at the gamer and making a show of physically restraining himself. "Well, let's see, my _problem_ is that my head feels like my brain is f-cking attempting to bash its way out and it f-cking _hurts_, my legs feel like lead, my eyes f-cking hurt too... oh, but wait." He skewered Matt with another deadly look. "...I wouldn't _have_ a problem if a certain bastard hadn't f-cked with my drink last night, now would I?"

He waved an arm sharply around the room, grimacing in angry disgust. "And to top it all off, I _was_ going to try to be civil about it, but there's so much shit on the floor there's hardly room to put your feet down, and you know it's really _not_ helping my headache any to keep having to f-cking hop over all your shit! What the f-ck, Matt, we've only been here a week and you can't keep the place any semblance of clean for even that long?! Why can't you even _try_ to stop being such a lazy lump and get your ass off the couch for a change?! It's disgusting!"

"Jesus, Mello!" Matt couldn't help it, he fired back, and with every single word that exited his mouth he knew he was going to be sorry for it later. He should just let it go, apologize, _shut the hell up_, **anything** but continue to talk.

He knew he was over-reacting, just the same as he knew Mello was, but he couldn't for the life of him stop.

A tiny voice in the back of his head screamed at him that, _It's not worth it_, but he could care less, and rammed the voice back, deep into his mind where he couldn't hear it anymore, though a small part of him is still aware of its existence.

"Would you just f-cking get over that stupid drink?" It was a combination of his rough morning, his still tender head, and just plain irritation that inspired him to instigate (because with anyone else it would be called speaking in self-defense, but this was _Mello_, and he _knew_ Mello, and this _was_ instigation) Mello the way he did, where usually he would have backed off to avoid the argument.

Instead it seemed he'd rather rush to meet it head on.

His eyes flew to the mess that the blonde demanded he clean, and his anger grew.

"Don't tell me to clean all of this shit up, when half of it is yours! I'm not the only damn one who lives here, you hypocrite!" He gestured wildly to the piles of paperwork, chocolate wrappers, and leather lying around the floor and counter tops.

"And don't," and here his voice took on a dangerously low tone, one that he only used as a self-defense mechanism when something cut too deeply. "Don't f-cking call me lazy. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a f-cking _hacker_, so just because I'm sitting down, doesn't mean I'm not working my ass off."

The icy blue glare directed at him flashed dangerously, and the blonde's hands fisted tightly at his sides as he stood up a little straighter in some subconscious attempt at intimidation. Something about that last part rang true, and that pissed him off even more than Matt's accusation about the junk on the floor. Something about the fact that when he was already angry at the gamer, the fact that Mello was actually _right_ grated far more than anything else and the frustration of having nothing to contradict that with made him bare his teeth in a grimace as he stepped closer, meeting Matt's glower dangerously.

"Really? Well, then, my bad... Go ahead and sit back down then, and we can wallow in our own filth in the meantime."

Matt opened his mouth to make an angry retort, but the blonde cut him off with a sharp gesture, snorting skeptically.

"Fine. Okay. I get it. You think I'm overreacting, but really, I _did not_ f-cking appreciate that last night and the fact that you insist I shouldn't even be angry when it's a perfectly understandable reaction is absolutely infuriating." He let out another growl, turning away and slowly unclenching his fists to stick his hands in his pockets. Apparently having dropped the matter of cleaning--at the thought that Near's men would just have to clean up after them, after all, and that was just fine by him--he continued. "Now don't you f-cking tell me it's no big deal and if you want to make amends like you damn well should, sit your hacker ass in front of the computer and get us some tickets home because I've concluded I can't stand another damn minute of this below-zero weather."

Matt stared, emerald eyes swimming with rage but unflinching at Mello's hard blue gaze, mentally overcoming the urge to let his jaw drop in awe. It was amazing how not one single word he had said had actually made it into Mello's thick blonde skull.

_F-cking amazing._

He switched his attention back to the computer lying only a few feet away, taking a deep breath in and willing his facial expression to remain apathetic despite the fact that his insides were liquid fire, and his overwhelming desire to break something was growing steadily stronger. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides and he was sure that where his fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm, little half moon marks would remain for the rest of the day.

Suddenly, without reason a memory came back to him. A night not too long ago when Mello had come back to their apartment in a rage. The blonde had been angrier than even Matt had ever seen. He'd returned from meeting with Near, and Matt remembered it had been sometime in the midst of the Kira case.

Matt struggled to understand why he'd recalled such a memory at a time like this, and the answer came in the form of the reason behind Mello's anger that night.

Near had been using him. Those were the words the blonde had been shouting, albeit with much more profanity and general death threats on the white haired boy's life involved in the conversation.

And he, Mello, was nothing more then a pawn.

Well, Matt thought with a bitter taste in his mouth, Mello was no f-cking better than the rival he claimed to detest with all of his being. Because that was exactly what Matt had become to the blonde.

He was itching to hurt something but still he remained impassive. It was who he was.

Nothing but a f-cking pawn.

The realization left him with a sick feeling in his stomach, like someone had walked up to him and socked him in the solar plexus and he just hadn't noticed until now. Until he looked down and felt a strangely familiar pain coursing though his body, and saw that a bruise was already forming on his skin.

A sort of buzzing filled his head, and his eyes stared numbly at the world before him. He couldn't see the computer screen anymore, despite the fact that at some point during his recollection he'd walked over and sat in front of it.

He continued to stare for a moment more at the black screen before him, incomprehensive, and wondering how the hell he'd gotten there without noticing.

_Habit_, he thought with a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

God. He was so f-cking _angry_, and he **didn't understand why **he was acting _so f-cking calm._

Finally, after an eternity of doing nothing, Matt stood from his place at the monitor.

He grabbed his DS off of the couch as he headed towards the bedroom without uttering a word.

The hacker didn't even spare Mello a glance as he pressed a few buttons and the handheld device sprung to life with a few telltale beeps and a familiar little tune. His eyes were immediately drawn to the dual-screened game, and he effectively shut out the real world as he neared the door.

He stopped for a moment, pausing in his steps, but keeping his attention on the blinking device before him.

"Do it your f-cking self," was all he said before he continued on his way to the room.

Blue eyes widened momentarily and Mello froze, hand half-stretched out to retrieve his fallen towel from before.

_Oh, no, he f-cking didn't just do that..._

Slowly, the blonde straightened, turning to glance over his shoulder while attempting to muster all of the self-control he had ever bothered to learn in his 21 years.

Apparently it wasn't very much.

His eyes found Matt in a second, lighting on the dimly glowing rectangular object in his hand, and he absolutely lost it.

With an angry hiss and half-suppressed curse, eyes flashing, fists clenched and clawing at the insides of his palms, Mello was suddenly there, covering the few strides between the couch and the bedroom door in less than a second, nails biting into the flesh of Matt's arm as he grabbed it sharply, jerking him out of the doorway to face him.

"Now listen here, you sorry motherf-cking bastard," he began, thinking he was already absolutely livid. But the fact that Matt's eyes didn't even move from the tiny screen with Mello directly in his face proved him wrong.

Mello was usually good with words. This time, though, even if he'd been asked to he couldn't even have thought of one to describe the intense rage which flashed red before his eyes.

"_Look at me when I am f-cking talking to you, Mail Jeevas."_

The words were hissed in barely more than a whisper but could not have been more threatening.

Before the gamer even had a chance to look up, Mello struck, his hand appearing out of nowhere right underneath Matt's nose, dark-polished fingernails swimming into view for just a second as the blonde grabbed the beeping device from the gamer's grasp, tearing it out of his hands, and hurled it behind him without even looking around to strike with a thunderous thunk against the door.

Matt stared, a look of pure loathing flooding his normally unresponsive features as he watched his game system fall to the ground with a stuttered flicker of light before going black, a distorted sound that must have been a beep echoed throughout the silence of the room.

It took only a few seconds for his mind to register what had just occurred, and when it did, he lost it.

Without thinking, without caring, without worrying about consequences and repercussions, he pulled back his fist momentarily before shooting it straight into Mello's jaw, sending the blonde tumbling to the ground.

His self-control lay shattered on the floor with his DS, and Mello was going to pay dearly for it.

"YOU BASTARD!" Matt screamed, and before Mello could completely right himself from the first swing, Matt was already pulling back for another. His eyes clouded over with the complete and utter rage pulsing through his veins, and he didn't see Mello before him any longer. He didn't care about anything anymore; he was too driven by fury, hurt, and absolute detestation, _and the goddamned sting of that name._

Still pulling himself up using the back of the couch, Mello barely had time to glance up, the shock making his mind go blank momentarily, all other things forgotten for just a second as he tried to grasp what had just occurred. He even forgot to block and by the time he saw the fist again, he felt it collide full-force with the soft flesh just beneath his ribcage.

The world went black. The breath froze in his lungs. Someone was screaming curses at him from far away.

And then rage and instinct and years of fighting for his life in dark alleys kicked in and he leaped to his feet again, not even bothering to wait for his breath to recover, ramming all of his weight into his attacker with a muffled cough as oxygen finally rushed back to his lungs.

For a second, black spots still dancing before his eyes, he hardly even registered who it was he held pinned against the wall, left arm twisted sharply behind his back, suspended a foot in the air with his face rammed into the wall. His goggles had been dislodged and now slid over Mello's arm as they fell to clatter softly to the floor.

Matt's vision went white and when he heard a sickening pop come from his left shoulder, he was barely able to hold in the instant cry of pain that sprang to his lips.

He was a moron and he'd known it the second he dared lift a hand against Mello. There was no question as to who would win in a fight between the two of them, and the throbbing pain in his shoulder only served to drive that fact in deeper.

_Damnit. Damnit. Damnit! _He mentally cursed himself, though he wasn't even sure for what reason.

There were so many to choose from.

The gamer was beginning to be glad Mello had so unceremoniously shoved his face into the wall; it meant the blonde couldn't see the look of pathetic defeat that had stung his features. His eyes were bright and watery from the pain, and he was sure if Mello didn't release him soon, he would either get sick to his stomach, or pass out right there in midair.

When it seemed the blonde would never act, he attempted moving on his own accord, and immediately regretted it as a wave of agony overcame him, and this time he couldn't stop the soft whimper that forced itself out of his throat, his humiliation clear for Mello to see.

He saw no point in even trying anymore, and managed to gasp out a few strangled words between the agonizing ripples of pain.

"Just f-cking let me go already. Can't you see you've won?"

The dark red haze pressing in at the edges of his vision clearing only slightly, the blonde let out another guttural growl, letting go, literally dropping the gamer to crumple on the floor.

Breathing heavily, he stared down imperiously at the striped heap at his feet. F-cking God, that punch had packed some serious power. He still couldn't get his breath back.

Words were a little hard to come by, but he managed to hiss them out after a minute. "Get up...you lazy lump..." he half-gasped, half-growled. Turning away, he slunk toward the kitchen, suddenly in dire need of some chocolate, and buried his head in the fridge, mumbling to himself as he pulled out the desired candy bar.

"F-cking teach him...a lesson... goddamn mouthing off to me like that..."

Frowning over the candy at the other boy, who had hardly moved, Mello turned back sharply, feeling in a particularly sour mood when the simple act of biting off a piece of Hershey's sent dull throbbing pains into his jaw. The metallic taste mixing with the chocolate also let him know his lip was bleeding pretty badly. What the f-ck was Matt's problem? It was his own fault, really. F-cking bastard... No one _ever_ hit Mello in the face and got away with it. No one.

Grimacing, he strode back over to the darker haired male, stooping swiftly to grab a handful of striped fabric and drag him to his feet.

"I don't know what's gotten into you," he hissed, shaking him slightly, "But I f-cking swear if you don't get your ass over to that computer right now and do what I tell you, you will be in a world of pain." The blonde shoved him toward the couch with the sharp crack of another hapless piece of chocolate being demolished by the angry gnashing of teeth. "You got that, smart-ass?"

The minute Mello had grabbed him by the shirt, Matt sunk his teeth into his lip in some futile attempt to redirect the center of pain from his shoulder to anywhere else. It didn't work, and the only thing he got out of it was a mouth quickly swelling with blood.

God, he hadn't even felt it, at the moment it seemed every nerve in his body was focused on sending the searing pain from his shoulder, spider webbing up his arm, and transmitting it to his brain.

At the second commanding shove from the incensed blonde, his vision became dizzy, and he grabbed onto the couch for support, careful not to jostle the left arm that he had held in front of his body in a meager effort to protect it.

He lifted his head and was met with the sight of the black computer screen once again.

And f-ck it if he just didn't care anymore.

The worst Mello could do was make something hurt more then his arm already did, and it was looking like that would be a challenge.

"You know," he began shakily, struggling to keep the sound of misery out off his voice, "for someone who claims to hate Near so much, you sure as hell do a great job of imitating him…No, that's not even true. You're _worse_ the Near, because when Near uses someone as a pawn, at least he doesn't pretend that they're something else…"

He didn't even bother to make it past the couch. Instead he slid to the floor in a crumpled heap, leaning against the back of the couch for support, still holding his arm cradled in front of him.

He didn't meet Mello's eyes. He was too afraid he would find the truth written in them.

A truth that would tell him that he was useless, expendable, convenient…

A truth that he couldn't face.

There was a flash of red before his eyes and the blonde's slim body stiffened, the half-consumed sweet substance dropping from nerveless fingers, the breath hitching in his throat, unable to get past the raw unbridled fury that roared over him in a wave of loathing and disgust and rage at that goddammed name and when the words finished registering, entering slowly and deliberately to echo in his brain…

Then he registered the vile comparison.

And his world spun on its axis, blind fury claiming his vision in a red haze which obliterated all else, the ground spinning beneath his feet as he lurched forward, a bitter, burning taste in his mouth and a loud, high buzz in his ears, echoing thunderously in his head the detested name..

_Just like Near… _

The world was whirling; he could hardly see past the blind rage blanketing his vision.

_Worse than Near… _

He was on top of the object of his hatred in less than a second, a howl of fury escaping his lips, imagining the thrilling spatter of bright red on loathsome white pajamas.

_Near…_

The bastard who was living his life at this very moment, living _his life _and gloating by offering a tiny part and he knew he'd never get the rest and the bastard was taking his place in the world and calling himself a name which should have belonged to _him,_ to _Mello_, to _him, goddammit!!_

He drove his fist into the warm flesh beneath him, straddling his opponent and landing another strike into the pale jaw swimming foggily into view.

…_How __**dare**__ he?!_

He gasped as a foot connected hard with his stomach, a desperate attempt at self-defense, and he was thrown into the coffee table, the sharp edge meeting forcefully with the side of his head.

Blackness rolled over his vision in a sickening wave and instinct helped him attempt to right himself again, a faint flash of silver on the tabletop drawing his attention. He lurched forward, fingers groping, finding the cool metal in a flash, and he turned back, crouched defensively with his back to the overturned table, blood streaming down the side of his face, left hand bracing his other wrist, barrel cocked expertly toward the opposite end of the room, finger bending toward the trigger.

Matt stared, uncomprehending at the gleaming silver barrel pointed directly at his chest. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe.

And with the flick of a switch, all of the anger, all of the rage, all of the intention to hurt that had been bubbling up so strongly, over-powering, all of it died in a single breath, only to be replaced by a different kind of raw emotion. It twisted his insides into a knot, pulling at his skin, and tearing at his mind. Like little fingers taking hold of everything that he knew, and _pulling, pulling, pulling_ until it all fell apart, and there was nothing left of him but a big gaping hole of a person.

It f-cking hurt. _A lot_.

His shoulder something of background music to the new wound that seemed to open up his chest and rip him apart from the inside out. It was something he'd felt before, but never in his entire twenty one year long f-cked up existence, NEVER had he expected Mello to be the one to inspire this kind of desolation.

It was an emotion that spoke of lies, and anger, and shattered promises, and never EVER being able to go home, and knowing that he could never put his faith in **anyone**.

Broken trust.

So he lowered his head, lowered his eyes, and prayed that Mello would pull the trigger because this hurt _so much worse_.

He couldn't look up, couldn't stare into the eyes that he knew wanted nothing more but to watch his own suffering.

He broke then, choking out a half-sobbed and practically inaudible word.

A name. A concept that he could no longer grasp, because his best friend was looking at him, and wanting him dead, and he was just broken.

"Mello…"

A single word, a mere two syllables whispered into the ear-splitting silence.

_His _name.

Gasped out in barely a whisper, louder than a peal of thunder in Mello's dully ringing ears. Slowly, it cleared the crimson clouds over his vision, over his mind, cutting through the chaos of just a few seconds before sharply and swiftly and excruciatingly. It penetrated his heart, his very soul and left him on his knees with the gun slowly slipping from his numb fingers, blue eyes regaining their focus and growing wide, pupils shrinking, trembling, staring.

At the crumpled bloody heap a few feet away from him.

At the downcast eyes which refused to meet his gaze.

At the unprotected chest which heaved and lurched with something akin to dry sobs.

Mello tried to swallow, tried to speak, tried to blink. But couldn't. His mouth was dry, his throat so tight it hurt, his eyes glued in place. He forgot to breathe. The sound of his own heart hammering in his chest must have permeated the entire room, filling his head with a deafening roar, beating against his bruised ribs so hard it hurt.

The world whirled around him, stomach clenching painfully in an attempt to lose its contents right there on the living room floor. ...No, this wasn't... this wasn't... he hadn't... he didn't...

_But he __**had.**__ In a stupid blind rage, for a goddam stupid reason, for practically no reason at all... But no matter all of that. He __**had.**_

Mello barely registered the action as he pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his coat, one violently trembling hand stuffing the loathsome silver weight in his fingers--on his soul--into the pocket as he threw it over his shoulder. His heart was still pounding in his head, loud and fast, that of a small frightened animal's beating wildly in its last moments. The cold breath that slipped past his half-parted lips came quickly, shaking and trembling, in broken gasps as if he'd been running for days.

His mind was blank. Nothing. Nothingness. Only the soft sound of his name whispered into the silence with the sting of a thousand knives of ice and fire. And the sheer weight of his own guilt washing over him in a tidal wave that left him breathless and drowning and sinking and crushed...

...And walking out the front door. And running down the street. And vaulting onto the ice-rimmed seat of his bike, and turning the key with a sharp jangle in the crisp freezing air, and pressing the gas, and tearing down the street with the engine screaming in his ear and his hair whipping his face and the cold air biting his bleeding knuckles and lips and tearing into him with cold sharp fangs of ice and belated remorse and self-loathing.

With utter disregard for street signs, for other cars, completely unaware of any surrounding, Mello floored the gas pedal and let the subzero wind freeze his heart before it bled right out of his chest, before the truth was able to permeate the furious pounding roar in his ears and he would let himself realize...

...He'd overreacted. F-ck, f-ck, _f-ck_, he'd done something stupid, something so f-cking _stupid_ and all because... All because...

_Why?_

The outskirts of Manhattan flashed past him, the loud honking of cars nothing compared to the thunderous, ear-splitting shriek in his head, the roar of his engine trailing into the cold winter air as he fled, weaving past cars, past the bridge, past the bay, into the hills where there was nothing and no one and silence.

_Why?_

Swerving off the road, he cut the engine, letting the bike clatter and fall onto the snow in the rolling hills on the roadside.

_Pride. Selfishness. Stubbornness. Foolishness... _So many reasons. None of them adequate. All of them laughable.

His breath gusted in white wisps before his lips as Mello dropped to his knees in the snow, head bowed, shoulders heaving, hands clenched in the pockets of his new coat, clenched around the cold metal _death_ inside.

_"M-mello..."_

How could he... how could he... how could he have let himself get so carried away... let himself... almost... almost...

_"...Mello..."_

It was too much. The piteous whimper in his head, the stabbing pain in his pounding chest.

He shouldn't have stopped. He didn't trust himself anymore.

Mechanically, shivering violently, gasping raw white regret into the freezing air, Mello righted his motorcycle slowly, pulling himself back into the seat, and pressing the gas down, down, flying through the hills and the snow and leaving a dark trail of bitterness in the pure innocent white which had never asked to be placed in the way of his deathly existence. Had never asked to, but was thrown before him anyway.

Had never asked to, but stayed anyway.

And he crushed it with his passing, trampled it to black.


	10. Undo

**AN: Hey everyone, this is Hitoshi, co-author of Unbreakable. I figured it was about time I said Hi, so I hi-jacked Tora's account for a bit. : ) I wanted to give a huge thanks to all of our reviewers, as well as every reader. You guys are amazing, and Tora and I really appreciate the support from every single reader! I know she already mentioned this, but I'd just like to remind everyone that from this point on it's going to get much more serious and angsty, so please endure it. Also, in the next chapter or so we will be bumping the rating up to M for violence...probably sooner rather than later...; Oh, by the way, Tora and I put in a lot of time and brainstorming into creating our original villains, and really tried to make them believable, and keep them from clinging to "bad guy" cliches. Any feedback on these characters (or anything else, really) would be highly appreciated! We'd like to now if we succeeded on them. Thanks again for reading, everyone, and hope you enjoy!**

**Just a quick note, we will probably be posting late next week, as we will be off being completely irresponsible and partaking in all of the lovely madness that is cosplay and AX 08 XD. **

**Tora speaking now: (wow, long AN, huh?) Yes indeed for AX! Cosplaying Matt and Mello, of course... Sorry, randomness. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to mention this, since it occurred to me I said this is written as an RP, but did not bother to mention who's who (if anyone cared).**

**--Tora: **Mello, Paul, Tammy

**--Hitoshi-chan: **Matt, Near, (occasionally) Paul

**Anyway, if anyone actually read this huge authors' note, prepare yourself for angst. : ( **

* * *

Empty emerald eyes stared placidly at the pristine white plaster of the door before him, mentally willing it to open.

He wanted the door to open. Needed it to open. Begged it to open.

But the damn thing just _wouldn't open_.

His breath came in hitched gasps, and his arm was on fire and it was burning burning _burning_, and he wanted to rip it off, reduce it to nothing but a bloody stump dripping tattered flesh in clumps of pale white skin and sticky red blood, and then douse it in ice water to make the fire go away; he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, the howl of a man-animal-thing, soaking a fresh wound in salt and acid just to see if he still had a voice, still had lungs, still had a pulse, and just get lost in the white hot searing pain blossoming through his chest, his arm, his mind, and he wanted the _Goddamn door_ to _just f-cking open_!

His body trembled, and he wanted so many things that he just couldn't have.

It seemed like hours that his lifeless stare remained fixed on the door, waiting hoping, praying that the door would open, and when it opened he would feel right again, and the cold, numb gut-wrenching hurt would just go away.

It didn't open.

No matter how hard he tried to make it, it didn't open.

An eternity came and went, and finally, with the solemnity that silenced even his chaotic thoughts, he stood up from his place on the floor. His eyes strayed to the window and something somewhere in the back of his mind comprehended nighttime, and that he should probably get some rest, but he couldn't sleep now, not for a long time.

His arm was still throbbing, but he didn't care.

He needed something to do, needed a distraction.

For a second his gaze searched frantically for the handheld game system that he knew was sitting around here somewhere, and when his gaze flickered to the ruined piece of plastic lying in a mess by the wall and lingered there for a moment too long, his throat constricted for a second, a soft _oh, right_ going through his mind.

When his head began to swim and his eyes began to blur, he had to forcefully tear his gaze away from the silver heap of tiny red and green wires and chips of shattered plastic.

The auburn haired boy moved through the apartment in a surreal manner, not sure if he was actually moving, or still sprawled across the floor of the couch and only thinking of moving.

There was nothing to do, nothing for him here.

The silence shrieked into his ears, and despite the fact that up until a little more then a year ago he'd been on his own for more then six years, he realized with a start that he had become accustomed to constant noise.

The subtle but still there crinkle of a foil wrapper being tossed aside.

The loud thump of angry metal boots slapping against the floor.

The consistent muttered stream of profanity that he'd always tried to drown out in favor of concentrating on whatever task lay before him.

His wanderings had taken him to the bathroom door, and when he walked inside, he found his gaze captured by the empty green eyes that stared back at him.

His good arm came up to lightly trace the swell of his broken lip, gently peeling away the bits of coagulated blood that had gathered there, and allowed his hand to stray further, fingertips gliding along the bruising area of his jaw line, before they fell to his side once again.

With a deliberately slow motion, he reached up to turn the sink faucet on, even that small amount of movement reminding his body of his multiple injuries.

His bruises and split lip would heal in a day or two and his shoulder would begin to heal as soon as he set it.

F-ck. His other thoughts slipped away as he anticipated the process, wincing somewhat at the thought of popping the joints back together. It was going to hurt like hell.

But he could handle it.

The growing ache in his chest was something else entirely, something he would rather not think about, and so Matt focused on what he did know how to fix.

Expression unchanged despite his nervous anticipation, he took hold of his lame left arm with his right hand, the contact sending another jolt of agony to wrack his weary body. He grimaced but otherwise didn't acknowledge the pain, and placed his left hand against the empty bathroom wall, stepping close enough to the wall to make sure that his left arm was supported securely between it and the rest of his body.

Without holding his breath or counting to three he suddenly pushed into the wall, twisting his shoulder to the inside, and driving the ligaments together with a sharp snap.

Luckily he had had the foresight to stick a towel in between his teeth before he began, and not only saved himself from the probable fatal reaction of biting off his tongue, but also saved anyone within hearing distance from inevitably hearing the tormented scream of pain that was ripped from his vocal cords. Instead the ragged cloth muffled the shout, turning it into a soft whimper as he slid to the floor for what seemed to be the millionth time that night.

He didn't remove the towel, emitting soft whines into the material as he tried his best to collect himself.

_It hurt, __**God**__, it hurt so bad..._

Flashes of white light danced in his vision, and after a few seconds of enduring the mind numbing pain coursing though his arm, he finally gave up and allowed the creeping darkness to sweep over his vision.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Matt opened his eyes wearily when the light that pressed against his eyelids became too much to ignore. He knew he must have only been knocked out for a few minutes, but he felt like his whole body was made of lead, and immediately shirked the idea of attempting to move.

His arm felt as though someone had tried to twist it off like a bottle cap, and after failing to do so, had left it hanging on by a few strings of tender pink muscle and thin white ligament. He wasn't a doctor, but he knew something was very wrong, beyond what was obvious.

He'd had his shoulder dislocated once as a child, and he remembered the doctor putting the joint right with one quick pop. And he KNEW that whatever he had done just now had_ not _set the joint right.

Admittedly his memory had probably faded a bit over time, but he was pretty sure he'd done it right, or at least he had been before the pain of the realignment had caused him to black out.

_I suppose_, he thought dryly, with an underlying shame and bitterness stinging his senses, _it was easier to do when someone else did it for you._

It had been a long shot after all, trying to do it himself, but it wasn't really as though he'd had a choice, and he had loathed the idea of leaving his arm as it was.

He realized with a sigh that leaving it as it was was exactly what he was going to have to do, lest he worsen the injury again.

After a minute of sitting and staring numbly at nothing, he finally managed to drag himself to his feet, doing his best to keep his arm out of harm's way. The pain that came from movement was inevitable, but he ignored it the best he could. After another moment of contemplation, he turned on the faucet of the bathtub, silently thanking Near for finding an apartment with a shower attached to a bath. Once the water had filled and the temperature was to his liking, he struggled painfully out of his clothes, and slid into the steaming water.

He knew that the heat would not help his arm, and that he should probably be icing it instead, but at the moment didn't care. He lay back against the cool plaster, bad arm crossed over his chest, and willed himself not to think.

It was the only way he could deal right now, so he pretended, and lied to himself, and repeated again that everything was going to be okay, over and over and over.

He thought that maybe if he said it enough, he might actually start to believe it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The black rolling chair rocked slowly from side to side, clicking softly in the silence from where it had rolled back about a foot when its latest occupant had risen with a start. Now she stood with her hands on the edge of the desk, leaning sharply forward until her nose almost brushed the computer screen, wishing impossibly that she had some sound to go along with the intense scene playing before her eyes.

But in the end, it was clear that sound was probably not needed. Visual was more than enough.

Tammy gasped softly as she watched her beautiful black panther strike, movements fluid and deadly and utterly captivating. And then in a second he was on top of the other boy, shoving him hard against the wall, slamming his face into the plaster.

She flinched a little, noting the sharp unnatural angle at which the darker-haired boy's arm was twisted into his back, the agony written in the death-white face just barely visible in the corner of the screen and Tammy almost cursed aloud for only having two measly cameras to cover the entire apartment and one was uselessly watching the empty bedroom. How inconvenient, being unable to see the undoubtedly heart-stopping intensity in her angelic demon's eyes.

A few seconds passed.

The panther dropped his prey, apparently having lost interest, and began to slink away.

Blinking at the suddenness of it all, Tammy shrugged a little, turning to pull her chair back.

But when her eyes moved back to the screen, her breath froze and she lowered herself slowly to the edge of her seat, eyes wide and bright as if watching a favorite action movie.

They were at it again, and Tammy wanted to laugh at the useless, pathetic efforts of the plain boy against her golden devil. He moved like quicksilver, not a single wasted motion

And then the impossible happened.

The other boy turned, twisting sharply onto his back, driving his legs into the black-clad male's abdomen roughly, sending him vaulting into the table and leaving a dark spatter of scarlet on the whitewashed wood.

Tammy must have made the mistake of blinking, though she did not recall doing so. But there was no other explanation for such inhuman speed, for in less than half a second it was over.

One moment he was sprawled against the overturned furniture.

The next he was crouched and tense and ready, a brightly polished .45 caliber in his right hand, aimed and ready to fire.

And Tammy was sure he must have gone crazy, that Paul was horridly, thrillingly right, that this thing truly was a monster , and _good God_ wasn't that supposed to be his _friend?!_

A small nervous giggle escaped her lips, and she rubbed her hands over the goose bumps on her arms.

And then he was gone, practically flying out the front door and Tammy barely had time to register the action and leap to the window, dark eyes raptly trailing the slight form as it sprinted toward the parking lot, roughly tugging on a thick leather coat and with an ashen gray look of pure anguish twisting his beautiful features before he vanished around the corner.

Somewhere farther down the street, an engine roared to life, the squeal of tires screaming into the distance and disappearing into the cold.

Tammy slowly let out the breath she had not realized she was holding, making her way back to the computer, carefully righting the chair she had knocked over in her haste.

Her heart was beating a quick cadence in her ears as her pulse rose thrillingly. This was more intense than _Fatal Frame _and she wasn't even playing.

Just observing, if it was possible to use such a casual word because, hell, he was a creature so hard to merely _observe_ and God, he made the blood rush ecstatically in her veins.

Smirking, Tammy brushed her hair behind her ear and reached for her cell phone. She only felt a little sorry for the poor fool lying in a broken mess on the living room floor.

But perhaps it had worked out for the best after all. Things had taken a favorable turn much sooner than expected.

Her cousin would be pleased.

Still watching the screen for signs of movement from the broken boy though none became apparent for now her blood-red polished fingernails clicked softly on the keys as she dialed, the soft ringing on her high-volume speaker echoing dully in the quickly darkening room, the setting sun casting a bloody glow on her face.

It only had a chance to ring once before a familiar deep voice sounded on the other end, calling her name in an odd mix of worry and annoyance at the fact she dared call his personal cell.

"Tamara?"

Grimacing at the hated full name, Tammy offered a quick "Hello" before getting straight to business.

She couldn't gauge Paul's reaction over the stupid phone, but she tried to imagine he was pleased. There was silence on the other end for a short while, as if he was thinking, and then he voiced her earlier thoughts softly, grim excitement barely contained in his low baritone.

"What a turn of good fortune… for us…"

Tammy nodded. "Yeah," she agreed, eyes shifting back to the screen. The boy seemed to be half-heartedly attempting to tend his injuries, though he had hardly moved. He either couldn't or didn't care to, but Tammy really couldn't be bothered to find out either way. He wasn't the one she wanted.

He was only a means to the end.

"Tammy?"

"Hmm?" she asked with a small start, pulled from her reverie, vague images of crisp red on black leather and gunshots and furious fervent shouts fleeing from her head as she tuned in to what her cousin was saying.

"Yes," she nodded, pulling a pad of lined paper toward her and jotting down notes. "Alright, yes, I can do that… Yes, I'll inform you of any movement immediately." She scribbled down some names and times and phone numbers, crossing her legs and bouncing her foot impatiently.

"Right, got it… uh-huh… oh, come on Paul, I'm not that stupid! …yeah…ok…"

After about fifteen minutes of rolling her eyes and accepting her cousin's half-worried, half-thrilled voice in her ear, he finally seemed to have related his entire plan.

Simple really. Just a few phone calls and some monitoring on her part. She briefly considered volunteering to actually go in with the other five people he'd named, but decided that would only result in another cautionary tirade from her cousin and held off.

Playing spy was good enough. She could be useful still.

Yet another "Be careful" floated into Tammy's ear and she snapped back that she wasn't a child, only to be met with a soft and startling, "I know, Tammy. I just don't want to lose you too to that monster…"

The olive-skinned young woman gave a sigh, standing from her seat to switch on the light and peer out the window into the dimly lit street toward the glittering lights of downtown Manhattan about a mile away. "Paul…"

"I know you don't like to--" he began in annoyance, but she cut him off, shaking her head and watching the dark window of the apartment across the street.

"No, Paul, it's not that. It's just… I don't know if it will work."

"…you mean you think he really is as cruel as he pretends to be?" he whispered, pure loathing dripping from every word.

"Perhaps," she acceded, shifting her attention to the camera which had somehow detected it was dark--marvelous thing, technology--and was giving her a night-vision shot of the same pathetic sight of the young man sitting alone in the dark that she'd been watching for the last hour or so.

"…then we'll see," Paul muttered in return, and she knew he was staring at the somewhat faded picture he kept in his wallet, a picture of a bright-eyed girl in the spring of youth, smiling and happy and cut down in all her golden glory by the very demon she herself was now so entranced with.

"Paul…"

There was a soft slap of leather as he snapped the wallet closed, and his voice over the phone was quiet and grim and full of deepest detestation and revulsion.

"What's his name?"

Tammy watched the young man finally drag himself up, limping toward the bathroom and turning on the light as he disappeared inside, with something close to pity shining dully in her dark eyes.

She tried to recall what he had called himself when he bounced up to them in the club all full of life and spirit. It seemed too long ago to be more than just a dream now. She remembered what the golden black god had called him, teasing and warm and fond, and all earlier doubts disappeared from her mind. She was sure now, as she called to mind the look on the beautiful dark angel's face as he rushed unwittingly past her window to flee into the freezing night air, recalled the name wrenched from his lips in passing.

"…Matt," she whispered. "His name is Matt."

She could almost see the cruel smirk playing on her cousin's lips.

"Matt… Let's see how useful you can be in bringing about the downfall of the wretched God of Death…"

- - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time Matt had finally managed to drag himself from the bathtub, it was well past eight, and the sounds of the city nightlife barely springing to life outside of the window could be heard from every direction. His thoughts jumped unwillingly to how he and Mello had partaken in that nightlife just the evening before, and he found himself sitting at the small round kitchen table, staring at the door once again.

He should just leave. He knew it was the right thing to do, the healthy thing to do, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was just too damned sentimental.

Something shiny on the table caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he was surprisingly alarmed to find that it was Mello's apartment key. Not surprised to find it forgotten, but surprised that he cared.

It was pitiable really, and he chuckled to himself dryly at the thought, but he couldn't really imagine not caring. Even if the blonde couldn't give a damn about him, that he, Matt was still completely willing and even eager for Mello to come back. That he actually wanted him to come back, _hell_, needed him to come back.

That small nagging voice in the back of his consciousness whispered fiercely into his ears that Matt was wrong about the blonde's feelings, that Mello did care, and that Matt had the breath in his lungs to prove it. Not to mention the scars on his chest to validate it.

But the look in Mello's ice blue eyes when he had pointed that gun towards Matt, there had been no mistaking the blonde's intent.

Matt's eyes scanned the surface of the table blankly, and fell onto a single glass of some orange liquid that he dimly remembered placing on the table what must have been a lifetime ago. Emerald eyes lingered on the glass for a minute before his inner troubles caught up to him again and demanded his full attention.

Still, after everything that he'd done, everything that Matt had put up with, he still couldn't hate Mello, couldn't find the ability within himself to hate him.

To Matt Mello was… Mello was everything. He was the closest thing Matt had had to family since he had lost his real one, and even when they'd been apart for six years, it had been concern for the blonde that had occupied his thoughts as he woke every day. The taste of Mello's bitter abandonment that had driven him to drink the feeling away. A care not for his own well-being that had forced him to watch the news every night, because he had known that the news would lead him to Kira, would lead him to Near, and somewhere in between he would find what he was looking for.

A best friend long since met, but hardly forgotten.

It was like Mello had burrowed his way into Matt's blood, his mind, his very existence, and somehow the thought of leaving, just walking out and never coming back, made him feel like he had injected himself with a lethal dose of poison; it turned his stomach, and frazzled his nerves.

Put simply, the thought terrified him.

He hated the idea that he was so inescapably attached to someone, someone who didn't care, someone who could hold a gun to his chest, and not even blink. It was stupid, and he was stupid for allowing it to happen.

But the idea of walking away from Mello. He _knew_ that he would hate himself a thousand times more than he did now if he were to leave.

Because even if Mello didn't give a damn about Matt, beyond his convenient loyalty, and the occasional entertainment, Matt couldn't say the same. Matt cared, and he would be betraying only himself by walking out now.

So he sat there miserably, waiting at the table and trying to come up with a way to apologize when the blonde returned. And he would stay awake waiting, like the loyal friend that he was until Mello returned. He had to; Mello didn't have a key, and the weather outside was freezing.

Because even at a time like this he could only ever think of Mello's well-being.

He was suddenly vaguely glad that the blonde had remembered to grab a jacket before storming out.

The thought elicited a callous chuckle from Matt's throat as he realized exactly how pathetic he was, but his gaze remained vigilant, and his mind remained concerned for only one person.

He watched, and he waited, and he prayed for Mello's safe return, bowing his head, still-wet bangs dripping onto the table in front of him. He didn't even know to whom he prayed, but he did it anyway, just for the hell of it.

It must have been twenty minutes later when Matt realized he had fallen asleep, and he rubbed at his sleepy eyes, trying to discern what had woken him.

It came again, this time a little stronger and he could hardly contain the misplaced cheer that flooded his thoughts as he listened to the steady knocking on the door.

He was back, Mello was back.

He half stumbled out of the chair in his eagerness to answer the door and winced when his injured arm was jarred a bit, but managed to disentangle his limbs and make it to the door without further incident. He wiped the grin slowly spreading across his features because he knew it would only annoy the blonde, but he couldn't help the utter relief that washed over his senses.

He didn't even bother to peer through the peep hole in the door, instead swinging it open quickly and without thought.

Needless to say the gamer was thoroughly shocked to be met with not one pair of eyes, but five, and none of which belonging to Mello.

Matt was not an idiot, in fact he was a certified genius, and despite the fact that he was daily in contact with people who could out-think him in any given situation, in comparison to the rest of the world, he was still very, very bright.

So where it might have taken someone else a minute or two to figure out, his own mind processed the situation in a matter of seconds. He took in the five strangers, and the way they held themselves, took in the dark suits they were wearing, two of them a little loosely worn at the chest, as though to make room for something. He took in the distance from where they stood, and calculated the time which it would take for him to shut the door, and the time that it would take for them to make it past the threshold (he also calculated whether or not it would matter if was able to close the door). He thought and calculated and rethought all of this in a matter of less then four seconds, and could only come up with one possible outcome of such a situation.

He was seriously screwed.

And since his chances were already so nonexistent, he decided he would like to be the one to make the first move, and without further thought, and just as the man in front had begun to lift his foot to step a little closer, Matt pulled back his fist and struck, ignoring the instant pain that spread through his shoulder and chest when the rest of his body felt the reverberations.

He jumped back several feet immediately after the first strike, and it gave room for the first man to fall to the floor unconscious, and the other four to step up to take his place.

He wasn't going to let his luck with that first punch fool him; Matt knew he still had next to no chance. They were four against one. Though there was still one question on his mind, not that it would make a difference to the outcome, not for the better anyway.

Who were they after: him or Mello? He knew that all odds pointed away from himself, and was suddenly glad Mello was gone, even if his presence might have given Matt a fighting chance. The only difference this little fact might change though was that they might just decide to kill him if he was not their target as he guessed. Five was a big group sent just to take someone out, so he assumed they had not come here for murder, but then again, if he was not their intended target, they might not have any reservations about killing someone who got in the way. And damn it all if they thought he was going to stand aside peacefully when they went after his best friend, even if said best friend couldn't have cared less.

The other four stepped into the room and closed the door behind them. Their leader (apparently the one in front who he had knocked out was NOT their leader) stepped up and eyed Matt speculatively, an odd grin spreading across his face.

"And here I heard you weren't much of a fighter," the man proclaimed, smirk brightening as he motioned to the other three something that Matt didn't catch.

Matt's eyebrows furrowed, and he was taken aback, the beginnings of confusion entering his mind.

_What did he mean by that? _He thought furiously, trying to understand where this stranger would have heard anything about him. The only idea he could make out about it was that maybe they had mistaken him for Mello, but then, no one would ever consider Mello 'not much of a fighter…'

It didn't make sense, but he didn't have anymore time to think about it as the four closed in on him. He swung again, catching one of them in the chest and extracting a grunt of pain, but it was hardly as powerful as his first strike, and it had left his back open to the others approaching. He whirled around just in time to feel someone's fist connect with his jaw, causing his goggles to fall to the floor with a soft thump. Then the fist connected with his ribs, then his shoulder, then his head, and he was on the ground, and his shoulder was on fire again, but there was nothing he could do about it because the blows kept coming and there were just too many of them.

Matt struggled weakly, but everything hurt, and when he took another blow to his already screaming shoulder, he emitted a loud cry of pain.

It hurt so much...

He was losing horribly, and he could still see the smirks that danced across their faces, and it made him want to be sick. An earth shattering crack sent new waves of agony lacing through his chest, and he was sure at least one of his ribs had been broken.

He managed a weak kick through the ache-- but it must have caught the man between the legs because he fell over with a moan-- and blocked the rest of punches and kicks aimed for his own body. Using the brief relief, Matt was able to scramble to his feet, and send another blow to one man's head, the whole time struggling to make air leave and enter his body.

The strike fell hard, and he was aware of his knuckles splitting open at the contact, but he kept fighting, ignoring the pounding agony that threatened to overtake him.

Someone grabbed his bad arm, and he cried out again and fought wildly to escape the hold, his eyes watered, and he sucked in a deep breath of air as he tried to ignore the excruciating flashes of white hot pain that seared his shoulder. Another hand grabbed at his other arm, and he was dragged to his knees and held there. He struggled in vain, and every twitch of muscle sent a new jolt to his burning shoulder.

They were all holding him down now, and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe for the way his ribs and lungs burned, and it suddenly came to his attention that they were no longer striking him. He might have considered calling out, but for the ragged cloth that was shoved into his mouth, shutting down that train of thought before it even had a chance to manifest.

He was barely able to lift his head, but when he did he felt the blood drain out of his face at the sight before him. The fourth man, the one who had smirked at the beginning, was no longer smiling, his face bruised and his lip bleeding, but he was walking steadily towards Matt with a determined look in his eyes.

It wasn't the look that scared Matt though. It was the syringe in his hands.

_F-ck. No._

The sight filled him with renewed energy and he struggled all the more against the restraining hands, but all in vain as the man neared closer and closer.

What the hell did they want, and why were they going to drug him? He didn't have any information, he was sure of it, but if they were going to kill him, why bother with a drug? No, he was sure that whatever was in that needle wasn't fatal, and that thought scared the hell out of him. They should just kill him; logically it was what they were supposed to do. They couldn't take him away somewhere.

Another realization came unbidden to him, and he fought against his captors with all of what little strength he had.

If they took him away, with everything that had happened between he and Mello, the blonde would think he had left. It was a thought that hurt more, and frightened him more then any means of death.

He couldn't! He couldn't let that happen, he had to get away…had to…do something. But there was nothing he could do, and as he felt the needle break the skin at his throat, Matt screamed into his gag.

_NO! No no no no no. __Mello would…F-ck! …He would think that…and I didn't…and…God, everything hurts…_

He couldn't focus anymore, and his vision was the first thing to go, leaving him with nothing but black, though he could still feel the world around him.

_No._

He cried out again, but knew he couldn't be heard, and he felt his consciousness slowly start to ebb away.

_No..._

The pain started to dim, and he felt his muscles go lax as his body was dropped to the floor. He lay conscious, unmoving, and unseeing for a full minute before the voices finally started to fade away, and haziness swept over his head.

_NO!_

An image of icy blue eyes was the last thing to fade when his mind became nothing.

**AN: I am a review Junkie. Feed my addiction please.**


	11. Undeserving

**AN: Firstly, thanks for the reviews, everyone! Our readers are what keeps us going, and it's wonderful to know what you guys think! **

**In other news, AX was awesome! Anyone interested can visit the cosspace link on my profile, where I should have pictures posted by the end of the month. **

**Anyway, notes on the chapter: It's a little short, but the next one _should _be longer... Hopefully. The title refers both to Mello's thoughts of himself and Matt's situation. Also, major angst warning! Other than that, Paul will be playing a major part in events from now on, so any feedback on our OC villain is much appreciated! Thanks for reading! **

**--Tora**

* * *

Mello watched his breath gust in front of his face, forming thin white tendrils which were borne gently away from his lips by the icy breeze, reminding him with a painful twinge in his chest of smoke from a cigarette.

He bit his lip, then cursed aloud at the pain he'd forgotten would obviously come from digging his teeth into the already torn flesh.

But it was hardly worth the muttered profanity when he knew that…

_Shiiit_… the voice in his head wailed pathetically.

The blonde sighed, vaguely aware of the frost clinging to his hair, his breath misting and blowing back into his face to warm his frozen, bloodless cheeks for the briefest of seconds. The thin rays of light on the horizon behind him failed to reach him and his involuntary shivering would not stop no matter how he willed it.

But he didn't go inside.

He stood there, in front of the door, staring blankly at the wood and the little silver numbers in the middle, and apparently having forgotten how to move.

After all, there was no point in going in if he couldn't answer his own question first.

The same question which had been running madly through his head for the last twelve hours or so.

The same goddam question which made him hate himself, _loathe_ himself with every fiber of his being.

_Why?_

He tried to tell himself he had been provoked. Matt knew, he _knew_ Mello had problems controlling his anger, even if the blonde had never openly admitted the fault. He _knew_ Mello would act violently if instigated. He _knew _Mello had already been irritated and his judgment was clouded so quickly, so damn quickly, by even minor aggravations. He'd _known…_

But that didn't make it any less Mello's fault and the blonde knew that so well it hurt.

His fist tightened on the white bag in his hand, filling the air with quiet crinkling as he twisted the plastic anxiously, warping the large letters on the front that had once read _EB Games _but were now only a faded and stretched bit of twisted plastic wrapped tightly about a smallish rectangular object.

He knew he was at fault and regretted every second with all of his being, the look in Matt's eyes a dull green stare lingering in his mind. The disbelief, the hurt, the distrust.

God, what had he done, and _why, dammit, __**why?**_

Ignoring the pain this time, Mello bit his lip again sharply, brow furrowed and eyes down to stare at the doorknob, still without moving.

The hand that wasn't steadily decimating the plastic bag reached up suddenly to grasp the silver crucifix which hung against his chest, gripping it so hard it dug into his cold-numb fingers painfully. The only remnant of his Catholic mother, claimed so unjustly by the goddammed wars he'd hardly even been aware of before he'd read all the history textbooks in Wammy's.

The only proof of the vague presence he sometimes used to remember as a gentle warmth without a face before it disappeared forever. Replaced instead by pain, and coldness, and shouts and the strong smell of alcohol.

His breath hitched a little at the recollection, memories he had kept suppressed for over ten years now pressing in at the edges, trying to force him to remember. Wild flashes of white and red and pain and noise and the man who had claimed to be his father though all the books he'd ever read said he couldn't have been anything of the sort with the way he beat him and shouted and cursed and _hurt_.

In those days, striking back had been a defense mechanism, an automatic, natural reaction. Even as a small child, he had never been meek, had never given in, had always been cursed with a headstrong nature and often-foolish stubbornness, and even before he could remember anger and destruction had been the only way out. Anger, and violence, and then when he was left alone and nursing his welts hidden away in the attic, he would curl up and clutch at his mother's cross and read about the glory of a wonderful being known as God.

The same God who delivered him one day when he was almost nine, though it seemed now possibly a little too late.

The same God who had forsaken him a few short years later when he was fifteen and the world had betrayed itself to be the same damned thing he thought he'd left behind in the chaos of the Balkans with the crumpled mess of a man he'd seen sprawled on the dirty living room floor surrounded by mountains of empty liquor bottles as he was being ushered out by foreign gentle hands.

He'd sworn once, through tears and blood, on the name of all that was Holy, that he would never, _never_ become like that man.

Well, he thought now bitterly, staring at the door he dreaded opening, he was doing a hell of a good job becoming exactly the thing which had led him into the frenzied dark pit of fury in the first place.

He thought he'd gotten better at managing it. He thought he'd gotten over the past. He thought he was in control of his emotions for the most part now.

He must've been wrong, terribly, terribly wrong. He should never have let his guard down, never have let himself drink, never have let himself be so carelessly stupid, never have let himself be carried away in ire like that.

_F-ck, f-ck, F-CK._

He knew better than anyone else how easily he got carried away, how f-cking easy it was to just lose himself in that red haze and hit and scream and kick and hurt until he felt better and everything around him was demolished.

It had been the life beaten into him for the first eight years of his life. It had been the life he so stupidly had drifted back to some years later. It was the life he _didn't want anymore._

_Well, way to go, Mello_, he thought bitterly to himself. _Way to f-cking go._

Maybe if he'd at least had more of a reason than a bit of a hangover and an annoying reminder of the emotionless boy who had taken his place in the world because perhaps God was rightfully punishing him for something. Maybe if he'd had more of a reason to strike out than because he was simply suddenly _angry_ and he just _needed _to strike out at whatever was there, and Matt just happened to always be _there._

Mello finally managed to collect himself enough to take a step, reaching slowly forward.

It occurred to him vaguely that he'd forgotten to put the apartment key on his key ring and thus it must still be sitting uselessly on the table.

He'd have to knock. Slowly, he unclenched his numb fingers from the cross which in the end had failed to bring him any solace, lifting his fist to rap sharply against the wood.

Matt probably wouldn't let him in.

He waited for a moment in the silence, the sun slowly rising red behind him.

Of course Matt wouldn't let him in. He'd attacked his best friend for no reason. Nobody would let their own abuser back into the same room.

What a ridiculous notion.

After all, if he'd ever had a choice in the matter, he'd have locked his father out forever in a heartbeat.

Matt had every right.

But as the dismal blonde slowly turned away, the door creaked open slightly and he whirled back, eyes wide, for he was sure as hell he hadn't turned the knob.

Yet there it was, swinging open just a crack and he stared uncomprehendingly, noting vaguely the slightly twisted hinge, as if the door had been thrown open aggressively and never been properly shut, as if his simple knocking had pushed it to open because something in the knob was broken perhaps.

It was dark inside as he stepped cautiously over the threshold with bated breath and gripping his package so tightly his scraped knuckles almost glowed white in the dimness.

Everything was the same as he remembered when he'd stumbled out half a day ago and ran away and spent the night driving himself into a numb frozen mess, and at some point punching some large rocks he'd found somewhere in the hills, and praying fervidly for forgiveness he knew he did not deserve.

The overturned furniture. Spots of blood here and there.

But Matt was nowhere to be found.

Almost afraid to call out to him by name, Mello finally managed to squeeze the sound past his throat in a soft miserable murmur. "Matt? Matt, where are you?"

His chest constricted tightly, painfully, when no answer came and the slowly lightening sky illuminated the empty apartment in shades of gray. He wandered around for a bit, checking in impossible places, even opening a cupboard though of course it was ludicrous to imagine Matt hiding from him in a space the size of the microwave.

Finally, Mello stood in the middle of the living room, at a complete loss and staring forlornly out the door, coming to the only reasonable conclusion that Matt had left.

His throat tightened, stomach twisting into painful knots as he gently set down the brand new DS he'd bought sometime last night (though he didn't really remember when except it must have been late because the store was supposed to be closing but somehow he'd managed to get them to open it again; guess nobody had ever looked so desperate for a DS before).

He looked over at the kitchen counter, dull blue eyes focusing on the cell phone he hadn't bothered to grab last night, and he instinctively picked it up, staring at the little screen which declared the time was 5:35am.

Maybe he should call?

_He won't answer._

Mello wanted to throw up, guilt washing over him in burning tidal waves which scalded his entire being. Of course not.

He'd pointed a gun at his best friend.

Sure, he'd done it before jokingly or half-threateningly or even just for the hell of it when he was screwing around.

But never, ever before had his finger been on the trigger like that; never ever before had he been blind and deaf and running on pure killing instinct and wanting to just shoot and destroy because it felt so good to be so in power; never _ever_ before had he almost pulled his finger back and squeezed…

Mello shuddered, softly shutting the door and finally able to feel his hands and face a little again. His whole body was so frozen it goddam _hurt_ but he knew he deserved it so he did not turn the heater up and stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed onto the unmade bed with his head in his hands and his stomach twisting and clenching in knots and his chest hurting like f-ck for no physical reason at all.

After a few minutes, he reached for the cell phone again, pressing the button with a trembling thumb and listening to it ring in his ear for an eternity.

And then Matt's voice floated over from the device, his message system laughing at him and spewing some stupidity about zombies.

Matt's voice… but not Matt.

Mello clicked the phone shut with a loud snap, throwing it against the wall with a cold wrenching feeling in his chest that may have been despair but he was too exhausted and hurt and full of self-loathing to know for sure.

Falling back with a soft thud onto the mess of blankets, Mello stared at the ceiling forever. He'd overreacted. That was obvious enough. He'd done something stupid. It was all too true.

But he'd done it all before.

He'd done things like this several times before, much as he regretted to remember.

And every time he'd come creeping back with uncertainty in his eyes and a tremble in his voice and called out that familiar name…

Every time he'd been forgiven. Even if he knew he did not deserve it. Every time, since they had been children and Matt had first learned of Mello's… shortcomings. Every time since the first time when they had been ten and Mello had beaten his only friend into a bloody pulp for some half-assed reason he couldn't even remember anymore.

It had taken some time, and Mello had hidden in the upper floors of the orphanage and skipped classes and angered Roger (though in retrospect it was not anger but worry) when he stopped appearing at the meal hall for several days in a row.

But Matt had forgiven him and grinned at him with the band-aid on his cheek going all crooked and his arm in a sling but it hadn't mattered because…

Because…

Dimly, Mello felt his eyes slip shut, his exhausted body finally giving up, one arm hanging listlessly from the edge of the bed, his fingers still tingling painfully from the lingering effects of barely fighting off frostbite.

Because they were friends, he reminded himself, the thoughts swimming thickly through the dark mist creeping over his consciousness.

Friends…

He didn't deserve a friend like Matt.

The thought was bitter and cutting and true.

But Matt had always disagreed, since the day he'd first voiced his thoughts years and years ago when Matt had come to find him slumped in a corner of the attic with his ashen face buried in the Bible and despite the fact Matt was the one bleeding, it was Mello who had cried then, holding onto his loyal gamer so tightly neither could breathe and trembling and sobbing into his shirt.

The memory hurt, but was somehow calming. Or maybe that was just his half-frozen body surrendering to much-needed sleep.

Mello tried to reach for the cell phone again--_just in case_--his fingers stretching out to brush against the plastic, struggling for a moment before he was able to slowly pull it into his weak grasp and then drop his hand over his chest just as his breathing slowed, his skin still cold despite the warmer air indoors.

No, he did not deserve Matt.

But he still _needed_ him. Needed him so much.

— — —

Paul Mercado strode into the room with an easy, satisfied gait, swathed in shadow, crisp ebony curls twirling snakelike around his neck and brushing his shoulders, amber eyes gleaming dully with dark satisfaction.

Those were the eyes of the Devil himself, glinting with twisted glee as he watched another damned soul come to his gate.

Those golden heathen eyes lighted with grim delight upon the figure in the middle of the empty storage room, bathed in the dim light of the single working fluorescent bulb on the far side of the room.

The young man was no more than twenty or twenty-one years in age, still a boy really; his thick, unkempt hair shone dully in the light, a soft reddish brown, his skin fair as though he never stepped outside.

He was secured firmly to the lone chair in the center of the room, arms tied together at the wrists behind the backrest, a thick cord around his waist strapping him to the back of the chair. The black and white horizontally striped shirt he wore was ripped in a few places, specks of dark red visible where they had spattered upon the white.

Only the boy's shallow breathing marred the delicious dark silence echoing all around with the promise of imminent revenge.

Paul smiled slowly. The silence which would soon be pierced with the cries of his vengeance. His eyes danced with anticipation as he drank in the sight of his prey.

Ridiculous, really, but he'd seen the proof himself. This slip of a boy, this completely average young man with his plain street clothes and messy hair, this vulnerable, weak, and tethered creature before him…

It was _friends _with that _monster._

Paul's smile twisted into a grimace as he surveyed the still form tied limply to the chair, a vulture circling his victim. A soft, scoffing growl escaped his throat.

How very… distasteful.

A knotting, twisting heat rose up in his chest, a feeling he'd grown so familiar with he was almost fond of it. His fists clenched, nails digging sharply into his palms as the hatred took over his mind, the pure loathing coursing through his veins in burning waves of fiery resentment as he thought, tried to imagine…

The look on his face.

The look on that damned bastard's pretty little pale face as it twisted in wretched inner agony and guilt and pain--

If a monster was capable of feeling such things, in any case.

Well, he'd find out soon, wouldn't he?

The black-suited Latino man grinned, a rabid wolf eyeing his catch, and stepped closer as the figure shifted slowly, hands pulling feebly against the cords as the prey realized it was caught.

His only regret was that it was not the golden-haired demon himself in his grasp, but that would come later, Paul assured himself with a menacing gleam in his golden-brown eyes.

No, this was better.

The bastard had taken everything from him. Now _he_ would feel the anguish of loss, the tearing, empty sensation in his chest as he realized the truth, the helplessness of knowing and being able to do nothing.

Paul licked his lips, tongue flicking out just barely, tasting the anticipation on his grimly eager grin.

He wanted to hear the pitiful note of panic in the vile demon's voice, see the vulnerable terror in his eyes, watch him writhe miserably under the weight of all his sins. He wanted to hear the screams reverberate through the room and watch the blood drain from the bastard's face and see his eyes widen and tremble and beg. He wanted the anguished pleas to echo futilely and wanted to laugh wildly as he denied them. He wanted that despicable creature on its knees and broken before him and beseeching him pitiably so that he could refuse him everything and tear his world to shreds.

He wanted to make him _pay._

No, he _would_ make him pay. He would torment his mind and his soul and then finally he would crush that ridiculously thin little body, crush the life from it as it begged and pleaded pathetically, uselessly.

The captor's amber eyes gleamed dangerously as his hand struck out, a well-muscled copper snake, to grasp the fettered boy's chin roughly, jerking his head up to meet the still drug-clouded emerald eyes watching him uncomprehendingly.

Paul grinned, flashing long, sharp canines, his eyes lighting with a sinister, ravenous gleam upon his catch, upon his means to securing his ultimate revenge.


	12. Unreachable

**AN: Long one this time... and much angst ensues. Don't say you weren't given fair warning. . In other news, Comicon was crowded, the weather is ridiculously hot, and facial scar make-up apparently irritates my stupid sensitive skin... Urgh. Sorry for the wait, by the way. We've been kind of rather busy. ; Well, enjoy (wow, considering the content, that seems almost sadistic) and... I wonder if I should raise the rating soon... Hmm... Anywho, that's it from me since no one probably even reads these. --Tora**

**Hey guys, it's me again, the _other _author. XD Just to let you know, we're going to be changing our updating pace to once every two weeks, instead of every one...obviously, it didn't work out... Sorry about that, but I don't remember the last time we actually kept to that schedule, so we figured it'd be better if we changed it officially. Thanks for being patient with us! Oh, and for the record, Tora makes a very sexy Zuko cosplayer, even if the facial scar make-up does irritate her skin. --Hitoshi**

* * *

Dizziness.

When Matt awoke, he was aware of very few things. The dull ache of his body, the nervous knot of tension in his stomach, and the overwhelming waves of dizziness that crashed against his consciousness left him disoriented and at a loss.

But the dizziness wasn't only in his head or vision. No, his whole body seemed to be spinning around itself, like something had control over the very blood in his veins and the nerves directing his every move, and sense.

There was something… something he was supposed to know, something that was important, and he reached for it with grasping thoughts but every time he got close enough for his fingers to brush whatever it was, it twisted out of his reach, and his mind was returned to numbness.

Had he been at his full capacity, it would have been frustrating as hell, but as he was, after each unsuccessful try he was only left more and more bewildered.

He didn't even know what it was he was so desperately seeking, only that there was something, something frighteningly important, and he just couldn't remember what it was.

After a few minutes of this half-conscious state, the darkness in his vision finally began to clear away to leave fuzzy images in its place. He stared blankly at his surroundings, forcing his mind to work, forcing it to understand.

He could see a wall in front of him, and nothing else.

No, wait...there was movement, a hazy image, but a moving one. A person, then?

He shifted in his place, only now realizing that he was sitting, and tried to get a better view. He was surprised to find that he couldn't move, not much anyway. There was something keeping him from moving, but he ignored the restraint, opting instead to focus his limited understanding at the moment on the person in the room with him.

As it turned out, he didn't have to try too hard as the figure began to stride swiftly towards him, stopping only to hover much too close for Matt's comfort.

He began to tell the man exactly this (for he could see enough to distinguish the gender now), but found his tongue rolled uselessly around in his mouth, and the ability to form words took much more concentration then he remembered it needing. His efforts were cut short however, when the figure shot out a hand, grabbing Matt's chin, and forcing his eyes up.

Though his vision and mind were still blurry, he understood the threatening movement, and began to pull away only to have the hand around his jaw tighten painfully.

All of his warning signals seemed to go off after this, and he began struggling futilely to get away from the stranger's grip. His efforts were useless as he found his hands tugging at unyielding restraints.

Something was slowly clicking into place, and his mind shot into overdrive, trying to assess the situation.

It was a mistake though, to try to think so hard in his state. The attempt left him feeling sick and even more disoriented then before, and for the first time he realized that whoever had done this to him had purposely incapacitated his thought process.

It…it hurt to think…

He pulled harder, more desperately at what he could now assume was a rope of some kind, but only succeeded in sending a shocking ripple of anguish from the start of his shoulderblade, to spread achingly against his entire chest.

Images flew back to him as his mind began to clear somewhat, forced into recognition by the pounding pain.

There'd been…a fight…and then Mello had left…somewhere…but he'd come back…no, no…it hadn't been Mello, it'd been someone else…and …and there'd been…pain…and blackness…

His mind pulled at the cobwebs blocking his path, and his memory finally began to surface, but it left in its wake something else.

A stickiness in his mind that made his skin crawl. He felt a cold sweat break out on his body, but wasn't sure if it had just now occurred, or if he was just now realizing that it had been there.

Everything was…everything was wrong…

He blinked, trying to rid his eyes of their hazy gleam, but found his tries unsuccessful.

He couldn't see, couldn't move and couldn't think, and for the first time in a very long time Matt found himself terrified for his own well-being.

He forced himself to take a deep breath of air, and push it in and out of his lungs.

He would not panic.

There was something wrong with him, that much he knew, but he also knew that whatever it was the person responsible for all of this wanted from him, whatever it was they thought they were going to get out of this, they were wrong.

They would get nothing.

For one thing he had nothing to give, despite his connections. He couldn't tell anyone anything about N, or L, not anything that would be useful, and it wasn't as though Mello kept anything he did a secret. No, whatever this person was hoping to find out, they would be left disappointed.

He let his mind chew on that for a while, trying not to think about whatever it might be that was going to happen to him

So he closed his eyes, and tried to relax, ignoring the pounding of his heart, the cloudiness of his mind, and the trembling of his body.

The dark man, however, did not relent. He peered into Matt's face calculatingly, searching, evaluating, as if to see what he was worth.

The boy, Paul noticed, was trembling, and cringed slightly when he tried to pull against his bonds again, sweat beading on his brow. The Latino man let him go finally, tapping his chin thoughtfully, looking him over again, noting the places where blood adorned his shirt and face, where his men had damaged his prize--though none of the injuries were bad enough to pose a fatal threat, and as long as the boy's life was not in danger, he really couldn't care less. For now he'd need him alive.

Alive and aware.

The dire plan working furiously in his twisted fancies made Paul smile slightly and he ran a hand through his thick curls impatiently, stepping around behind his catch now. He'd learned plenty in the Mob. Learned from observing the best. And then killing them. Oh, yes, he'd learned.

He'd learned the quickest and deepest way to hurt an individual was not to hurt _him._ Oh, no. He'd learned that particular bit the hard way, personally.

He pulled a thin red cellular phone from the pocket of his charcoal suit, examining it briefly. The phone his men had taken from the captured boy. And this was all he needed to crush his enemy until he was so easy, so very easy to kill. Hell, by the time Paul Mercado was done with him, he thought the bastard would ask for death.

Well, assuming he cared at all, anyway.

Paul frowned down at the boy again, dropping the electronic device back into his coat. After all, his cousin and spy Tammy had recounted to him what she'd seen in pretty clear detail. Apparently, the boys had had no reserves about striking at each other.

Mello had no qualms about nearly tearing his roommate's--and supposed friend's-- arm off. If Tammy had understood correctly in any case.

Ah, well. If she had and Mello really couldn't care less, Paul had other--if less 'fun' --ways. If the blonde did care at all, well...

He'd given them an advantage against himself. Paul almost laughed. He'd have to remember to mention that to the vile creature later.

Slowly, the black-clad man reached a strong calloused hand toward the bound boy's left shoulder, fingers hovering for a second as he tried to remember if this was the correct side.

Yes. He saw it now. The slightly different angle, the only very minimal difference, the tiniest signs betraying dislocation of the joint.

He smirked, fingers clamping down upon the afflicted area, pressing, squeezing, not too hard but just hard enough to cause discomfort even if there was nothing wrong with that particular shoulder. But he could immediately tell he'd hit the mark. He could sense it even before the boy reacted, and, still grinning wolfishly, he made a mental note to thank Mello later for making things easier on him.

Matt couldn't stop himself and he released a sharp yelp of protest, trying desperately to twist away from the offending touch. His eyes were clenched shut, and his breath came in deep ragged gasps. The pain had momentarily stunned him enough that he'd forgotten to breathe, as though refusing to inhale and exhale would somehow lesson the biting edge of his joints screaming at him as the pain swept over his ruined shoulder.

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth experimentally before he attempted speech again, this time with the desired results.

"…f-ck…you…"

Had he the energy or the ability, he would have punctuated the curse with a nice one fingered gesture, but as it was he barely had enough of either to just get the words out.

His mind was sticky and wrong, and he hated it. He hated the muck that coated his thoughts, an unnatural barrier keeping his head disconnected and lost. He hated how worthless he felt, and how he wanted to rip his own f-cking arm off because it would hurt less that way. He hated that smirk plastered onto the face of the man in front of him.

More then anything he hated not being able to do a damn thing about any of it.

God, he didn't even know who the hell this bastard was, but he'd be damned if he asked. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The pain finally receded to the point that he could open his eyes without worrying that they would tear up, and he fixed his gaze unflinchingly at the man before him.

Hard emerald eyes screamed what his mouth could not.

_I'm not afraid of you._

Amber eyes met his gaze, raw loathing written in those cold dark-golden orbs, and the man's smirk fell slightly, twisted into a dark grimace.

"Still have some fight left in you, do you?" he whispered dangerously. "Spirited little f-cker... We can fix that." His grimace widened into a mad half-smile.

His other hand moved into view just slightly, fingers brushing the boy's bruised jaw. Seemed Mello had done quite a number on him, after all. No matter. Paul's instinct told him he wasn't wrong.

And at this rate, it would take hardly any effort on his part to execute his plan...

He would call the blonde tomorrow, and then he'd know for sure. Tammy was still watching him, after all. He'd make sure to tell her to watch his face very closely. And then he'd call, and put the phone on speaker, and put it close to the boy so his friend could hear and...

Cold chills ran up the dark man's spine in thrilling anticipation. Oh, yes. The fun was just starting.

The beginning of the end.

He'd make that bastard pay with everything he had. _Everything._

"Trial run..." Paul whispered, leaning closer. Strong dark fingers dug sharply into the young man's already bruised flesh, nails biting into the tender shoulder as Paul put all his weight behind his right hand and pushed, leaning in close to whisper in the boy's ear, "Having fun yet... Matt?"

Matt's world exploded into little white spots popping across his vision and a cry of pain burst from his throat. His breathing was even heavier than before and even the shuddering intake of air hurt his shoulder. He pulled at the cords that bound him again, but nothing gave, and he had to choke back the sob that was forming in his throat as the man's fingers dug deeper into the separation of joints, digging into flesh and cartilage.

He bit his lip in some small attempt to keep the building screams of agony somehow suppressed, and felt a stream of blood make it past his lip to trickle slowly down his chin.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

He didn't understand, couldn't understand, what the hell this guy wanted. And how had he known his name? It didn't f-cking make any sense…he'd never even seen the guy in his life… God he just wanted to know… just wanted to know what he wanted…

_I'm such a f-cking coward, _he thought to himself grimly…_not ten minutes awake and I'm already looking for a way out…_

_Pathetic…_

When the excruciating pressure finally ceased he dropped his head, unable to support the weight anymore, and felt his body slump in the chair.

He just wanted it to stop hurting.

His thoughts were drawn inexplicably to Mello and Matt found himself hoping, praying, that whoever the hell this psycho was, it didn't have anything to do with his blonde haired friend…

He couldn't… it just couldn't… and he suddenly found himself needing reassurance, not for himself, but… God he just had to know if this involved Mello… he had to…

It was the only worry in the world that could have forced him to speak at that moment.

"…what…the f-ck…do you want…" The words came in gasping heaves, and his head remained lowered, still unable to muster the strength to lift it.

The dark suited man smiled again, and put a hand in his coat pocket casually to draw out a thin dark red cell phone, his other hand grasping his captive's chin again roughly, forcing his head up as blood slowly dripped down his wrist from the boy's torn lip.

"What do I want?" he repeated silkily, peering into the bloodless face with an amused little smirk and tapping the top of the phone against his lip thoughtfully. "Let's see now, are you really in the type of position to be asking _me_ questions?"

The boy appeared to be trying to look at him, but his eyes were unfocused, half-shut, and Paul laughed softly at the ludicrous notion that he even thought it remotely appropriate to be demanding answers out of him in such a state. How ridiculously naïve.

Paul grimaced at the cell phone in his other hand with utmost loathing etched across his features before dropping it back into his pocket with a snarl.

Completely laughable and stupid. But he could be useful yet...

He tilted the bleeding chin up a little more so he could get a better view, vaguely noticing but not caring as the boy's breath hitched painfully at the movement, cold sweat beading on his brow.

"And who," Paul asked pleasantly, whispering in honeyed tones, "do you think is at fault for your current situation, Matt? I think you know exactly who to blame..."

Matt felt his stomach turn as the full impact of those words hit him, the implications making something in his chest tighten painfully, though perhaps not for the reasons the man expected.

He could see it in the dark haired man's eye, hear it in his sickeningly sweet tones, the soft persuasion, the silent voice, egging him on.

_You know who's to blame… you know whose fault this is… you know who to hate…_

He almost smirked. Almost. This man was going to be very disappointed.

Though his body was spent and hurting, and his mind was not at full capacity, Matt was still Matt, and he'd be damned if he didn't act like it.

He pushed aside his worries for now. That could be dealt with later, and if they... he ...had him here, then chances were they didn't have Mello, and as long as Mello was safe…

"Well," he began softly, the low tones all he could manage, "Generally, when someone has me beaten, kidnapped, and tied to a chair, I'd would say the person to blame is the one who had me beaten, kidnapped, and tied to a chair."

And then with a burst of energy that was fueled more by his will then anything else, he painstakingly coerced the muscles in his mouth to shape to his will, flashing his captor a full mouthed grin.

There was a second in which the dark man smiled fakely down at him, just a spilt second in which all that Matt had time to register was the wrathful glint in his unnaturally golden eyes.

And then the man hit him, drew back the hand which was supporting his head and drove his knuckles forcefully into the side of the boy's face with a soft snarl, the contact whipping his head to the side with a crack.

"I hate spunky brats like you," he spat, pulling a white handkerchief from his coat and wiping the blood from his hand casually, the bright red painfully vivid against the snowy silk. He shot Matt another disdainful glare, then spun on his heel suddenly, striding away with the soft click of expensive shoes on concrete.

"We'll see if you change your mind tomorrow," he called darkly from the doorway. "You have plenty of time to dwell on it until then. Sleep well, Matt..."

The man's soft chuckles disappeared behind the thick metal door as it slammed shut and silence reigned supreme in the empty storage room.

The auburn haired boy spit out the blood that had begun filling his mouth, allowing himself a small groan of pain now that the man was gone. He desperately wished for nothing more than to massage his aching jaw, but knew it was impossible given his restraints.

Still. Still the comment had been worth it, if only because it gave Matt the satisfaction of seeing the man thrown off of his perfect little act. The guy obviously wasn't used to anyone talking back to him and it made his words all that much sweeter.

He tried to readjust himself to a more comfortable position in the chair, but only ended up aggravating the throbbing shoulder that he'd done a good job of forgetting about up until now.

He winced, frustrated with his aching body, and his inability to change his current situation.

What was he supposed to do? Just wait here until someone came for him? Besides the fact that the idea revolted him, it also wasn't going to work.

The only person who would notice he was gone was probably thinking he had left of his own accord…

His captor's words came back to him, and a frown fell upon his bruised face. There was no question as to whom the man was referring, but… there was no way of knowing _what_ he was after.

The only thing Matt knew for sure was that he was being used as a pawn in some way. He almost retched at the thought, knowing he was going to be used against Mello.

At first he had thought whoever this bastard was had only wanted information, but it had become clear to Matt that that wasn't it at all.

So, what, were they going to use him as a hostage? Demand some kind of ransom?

The thought almost brought a smile to his face. After their last encounter, Matt wasn't even sure if Mello would care… not enough anyway…

And if he did… well… Matt just hoped he didn't.

He didn't want to think about what was happening to him, possibly happening to Mello. He couldn't let that happen…

He squirmed against his bonds again, the thought of Mello in the same situation giving him strength that he hadn't known he possessed.

No, he couldn't let that happen no matter what. Not to Mello… never ever again would he sit by unaware… he'd promised himself… he couldn't fail his best friend…couldn't fail himself again.

Fire. Screaming. The stench of burning flesh filling the air.

NEVER AGAIN

_Not you, Mello… I won't let them hurt you…_

He wasn't sure when the repeating mantra turned from a firm reassurance to a frantic plea in his head, but after more then an hour to dwell on the subject in the dark room in which he had been left, every worry and concern seemed closer to him, tearing him apart, and demanding his attention.

They pressed down on his mind, showing him nightmares and bloody hallucinations of what could happen if he failed, of what he couldn't prevent, and how utterly, completely useless he was… is… always had been…

His once-calm and somewhat snide attitude was gone, replaced with fear, and doubt, and painful wrenches at fast holding restraints.

It left him near hyperventilation, and pulling frantically at the ropes that secured him.

It was in this state of mind that his exhaustion finally won, pulling Matt unwilling into a dark and horror filled sleep, his wrists still bound tightly behind his back now soaked with blood and sweat, open raw flesh still pulling at the cords even in his sleep.

And in his dreams, he fought to protect him a thousand times, fought with everything he had, blood, sweat and tears.

And in his dreams, he failed a thousand times, agonized screams ripping apart the space in his mind.

_Mello…_

— — —

Dull blue eyes opened slowly and the blonde boy could not prevent the low moan which escaped his lips when he attempted to roll onto his side, his muscles protesting in sudden faint pain.

He winced and did not attempt the feat again, instead opting to remain sprawled on his back on the queen sized bed in the middle of the messy apartment bedroom.

His mind was as numb as his body and it took him a moment to figure out what was going on, trying to sort out why the f-ck his whole body tingled painfully and his head felt full of wool.

_Matt…_

And then Mello remembered with a sickening lurching sensation and he tried to sit up in a hurry, the world becoming white before his eyes as it came crashing up to meet him, the muscles in his chest seizing agonizingly, forcing him to fall back to the bed again, curled upon his side and coughing weakly into the pillow.

"F-f-ck," he managed pointlessly, sucking in a shuddering breath of air. After a few minutes of fighting for oxygen when his lungs seemed to be refusing to work properly, he tried again, one thought driving him.

_Matt… _

Carefully, excruciatingly, Mello pushed himself up again, supporting his weight with trembling arms, something in the back of his mind noting vaguely that he probably had hypothermia or something and that he was a bloody idiot and what the f-ck had he been thinking, goddamit, he was so stupid and useless…

Still breathing raggedly, he picked up the cell phone by his side on the bed to note it was now early evening, just shy of six o'clock. He'd slept all day.

And there were no missed calls.

Also, he still wasn't warm. Come to think of it, he'd kind of forgotten to cover himself earlier.

But that was beside the point, Mello reminded himself harshly, rubbing the goosebumps on his arms as he sluggishly dragged himself off the bed, supporting his weight on the wall as he stumbled into the living room.

"Matt…?" he called faintly, finding his mouth a bit reluctant to function properly. "You… home…?"

No response.

Of course not.

And it was dark. Mello flicked the light with numb fingers, pulling himself along the wall into the kitchen.

No missed calls. No note on the fridge or on the counter. No sign that anyone had touched the new game console on the table. No discarded cigarettes in the ash tray.

No Matt.

Another pained whimper escaped Mello's throat as he slumped against the kitchen counter, black spots dancing before his vision.

Maybe he should call again…?

But he knew that it would probably be a mistake. He doubted he could form the words when he couldn't feel his lips.

Besides, Matt would be very angry to see him like this. Assuming he didn't really actually him and leave for real this time.

Mello had come to depend on him so much, had come to count on the fact that no matter what he did, the gamer always came back, that he _understood _and after he had the time to recuperate he would forgive him and things would be okay again and Matt would be Matt again and he would be Mello.

Matt had just always come back before. He'd always understood before. He'd always known Mello didn't really mean to hurt him, that things just _happened_and Mello couldn't control them and…

But this wasn't Wammy's and they weren't children anymore.

Mello had pointed a _gun_ at him.

A gun. A killing weapon. And his finger had been on the trigger.

The urge to vomit washed over him again and Mello's knees buckled before he managed to catch himself on the edge of the counter.

No, no, no, no, no…

He couldn't allow himself to think this way, should never have let himself imagine such things…

And for God's sake what the f-ck had he been thinking last night?

_Matt would be livid if he returned…_

NO.

_Matt will be livid when he returns…_

Concentrating on making his hands work properly, Mello shuffled about the kitchen slowly, painstakingly filling a large glass beaker with water, putting it in the microwave, adding scoops and scoops of hot chocolate powder, pouring it into a mug.

He wondered if the fact his hands had started shaking was a good thing or a bad thing at this point. At least he could feel them again, as he pressed his palms against the hot sides of the cup, watching the steam wafting up from the hot chocolate.

He knew he wasn't wrong in remembering the proper treatments, and he was fairly sure if he even had hypothermia it was only in its first stage and he should be alright soon enough.

Gulping down the scalding liquid and trying not to spill too much though his body was suddenly shivering again, Mello poured himself another, and another, and then finally began to drag himself back toward the bedroom with soft involuntarily moans and whimpers as feeling returned to his limbs.

He stopped once to adjust the heater to the highest it could go, then collapsed onto the bed and pulled every blanket in reach over himself, clutching his cell phone tightly in one hand to make sure he'd hear it ring and feel it vibrate against his chest… just in case.

_How_ _pathetic…_

The thought did not make him as angry as it should have and Mello resolved not to dwell on his stupidity.

He'd be fine tomorrow morning.

And if Matt was still gone by then, well… He'd go look for him. He didn't give a damn if Matt didn't want to see him ever again, he decided stubbornly. He was going to find him and apologize and then they could part ways but not like this… not like this…

Not after what had happened.

_Not like this._

The world faded quickly and he was finally warm.

But Mello slept badly that night. His body was not strong enough to twist and turn in his restless slumber, but his fingers left deep rifts in the mattress where they dug into the material as nightmares plagued his dreams.

And he was back again, back to that winter night just a little over a year ago…

_Mello watched in horror as the little screen on the truck portrayed a tiny image of a red car slamming through a wall of armed men, their shots piercing the windshield, the windows, even the metal, the tires flattened and sparking as the vehicle burst forward with an angry squeal and headed for a nearby bridge, dozens of cars on its trail._

_And turned the corner._

_And slammed into the railing._

_And toppled over the bridge._

_And disappeared from view._

_The reporter's voice fell on deaf ears as the blonde finally remembered to look back at the road, his mind suddenly blank with shock, chest twisting and knotting as his heart tried to burst out of his throat and he ignored the words and the yells of the nude woman slamming against the inside back of the stolen truck as he swerved sharply off the road._

"…_the young man driving the car has not yet been identified… he appears to have lost control of the vehicle… police suspect he was killed in the shots fired by Takada's guards and are now going to investigate the scene…"_

_And then Mello nearly crashed into the collapsing wall of an abandoned church and he was vaulting out of the driver's seat and sprinting toward the road and his heart was pounding in his ears and, Oh God, oh f-ck, oh God… _

_He had to call Near first… Make sure… make sure…_

_Oh yeah, Takada. Take care of the bitch. Near could do that. F-ck Near. F-ck Takada…_

_Oh, God._

_God, God, God… _

_**Matt…**_

The heat pressed in and the blankets had gotten tangled around his limbs and Mello thought maybe it was sweat on his cheeks or maybe it was something else but he couldn't stop and the memories kept crashing against his mind in agonizing waves.

And then Matt was there, and bleeding, and dying, and not breathing…

_There was blood everywhere._

_And f-ck, f-ck, __**F-CK **__why had Mello taken so goddam long to find him and now it was too late and Matt was going die and it didn't matter anymore and nothing mattered anymore and…_

_**F-CK,**__ he wasn't breathing…!_

_And then Mello was tearing his shirt off and wadding it and ripping it and trying to stem the flow of blood and there must have been a dozen bullet wounds and that wasn't even counting the broken arm and cuts from shattered glass and…_

_A sob ripped from his throat as Matt's chest rose slowly in a sudden intake of breath, blood leaking from his mouth. _

_Alive… Alive… He was still alive…_

_But every second counted._

_He wasn't even sure how he did it, but he was bandaging and stopping the blood and trying to keep him breathing and he was also dialing and yelling and cursing frantically at Hal and trying to keep the tears from blurring his vision all at once._

_And Matt was alive and he hugged the bleeding, broken body close and picked it up carefully, carefully, something more fragile than the thinnest glass._

_And he clung to it and did not care that Hal was there and there were other people and there was blood all over the inside of the nice leather seats of the car._

_Matt…_

_He'd failed… He'd failed… He'd failed Matt…_

_Matt…_

Perhaps it was a sob, perhaps merely another whimper which wracked the slim pale body clinging desperately to a sweat-drenched pillow as the noontime sun rose high in the sky, but when Mello opened his eyes again many, many hours later, he knew he couldn't give up.

He knew_, _he knew, he _knew_ he could never, _ever_ fail like that ever again and he was going to get up right now and _find him_ no matter what.

Mello pulled himself up from the bed carefully, barely even noticing that his body ached only a little and he could feel every painful twinge in his fingers as they dug sharply into the crucifix about his neck and his lips moved in whispered prayer as he made his way toward the living room just in case, to check again and maybe, maybe his world would be back to normal again.

Maybe, maybe Matt would be back.

Maybe…

The room was empty.

His stomach and his chest and every part of him was empty.

The sun stung his eyes, illuminating the unchanged room.

Mello lifted a hand slowly, fearfully, staring down at the device he had never let go of.

_12:14pm_ _February 4, __2010 _shone dully up at him.

No missed calls.

Mello had never hated a machine more in his life than at that moment as he looked down at the silent cell phone. The backlight blinked off and he was left staring pleadingly at a piece of dead plastic.

He almost threw it against the wall again.

But then with a sigh, he merely dropped his hand to his side, making his way to the bathroom with heavy feet, head down.

God, hadn't he suffered enough? The rosary cut into his fingers, the edge drawing a small spot of blood. Oh, God, hadn't he repented? Couldn't Matt come back now?

Forlornly divesting himself of the sweat-drenched long-sleeve and jeans he'd slept in for an entire day and a half with slight disgust--though perhaps less at the dirty clothing than at his own wretchedness--Mello pulled off the holy cross last, gently setting it on the bathroom counter and turning on the hot water mechanically, absently.

He couldn't get it out of his head, that horrifying, stomach-turning, heart-stopping image of Matt lying broken and bloody on his lap surrounding them both in a horrific pool of thick dark red, lungs filling with it and emitting soft gurgling whimpers and…

Mello had to wrench his eyes away from the blank spot on the wall he had been staring unfocusedly at with a start, turning off the faucet hurriedly just as the water threatened to lap up and over the edge of the tub.

Carefully setting the phone on the rim, he climbed in, wracking his brain for answers. What to do next? Should he call? Should he wait here? Should he go scout out all the nearest bars and arcades? Matt couldn't have left.

He _couldn't_ have really _left._

Could he?

Feeling sick to his stomach again, Mello mechanically washed away the last remnants of his stupid little ride through the snow, letting the hot water soothe his stiff muscles. He finished as quickly as he could without aggravating his sore body, eyes flickering over to the cell phone every few seconds, but of course it did not ring.

It took a little over half an hour.

Still no ring. Mello had never wanted to hear that dreadful Mario theme music Matt had programmed into his phone a few months ago more in his life than now.

But no annoying high-pitched tune disturbed his bath and slowly Mello began to resign himself.

It had already been two days. Plenty of time for Matt to have been across the United States again. Across the world.

His last hopes seemed to go down the drain with the bathwater and Mello climbed out of the tub with a stony look, toweling off and dressing robotically, wearing simple black jeans and a fresh black turtleneck, slipping the cross back on and feeling it settle against his chest with a weight that seemed at least a million times that of the small silver charm.

Shuffling back out to the kitchen, he began to fix himself some hot canned soup he'd found stored in one of the cupboards, not even having the energy to utter a curse against Near though he was pretty certain the canned foods in the pantry hadn't magically appeared there.

Not that he had any appetite anyway. But the thought kept rising unbidden that if Matt happened to walk through that door anytime soon and found him freezing and starving himself, Mello would be due for a beating.

He vaguely remembered Matt's attempt to force-feed him once at the orphanage when Mello had been in one of his moods. Matt had been so angry. It was almost comical. And getting sat on with a loaf of bread being shoved down his throat once was enough for a lifetime.

Dammit, he wished Matt would burst through that door and punch him in the face right now and yell at him for being so goddam stupid…

Spooning broth into his mouth without tasting it, Mello's eyes drifted around the room, avoiding looking in front of him where the cell phone sat silently on the table.

His eyes landed instead on the white lump of the twisted plastic bag which was wrapped around his latest purchase. The thought of the DS made him want to stop eating, so he let his gaze move on.

Maybe he should watch some TV…? Anything to settle his mind in the least. He'd call again in an hour. Just calm down a bit first. He'd call and leave a message saying he was sorry and he was waiting for Matt to come back and that it was okay if he didn't just as long as he at least called…

Leaving his still half-full bowl on the table, Mello moved toward the couch, eyes scanning the cushions and then the ground for the remote.

But suddenly something else caught his attention and his gaze snapped to the faint glint of orange, glued there as he froze mid-step.

There, just behind the couch. Laying abandoned on the floor. Orange plastic glinting dully in the bright sunlight.

A small frown furrowed his pale brow as the blonde stepped forward, kneeling on the carpet to gently pick up the orange-tinted goggles, staring down at them uncomprehendingly.

Matt _never_went anywhere without his goggles. Never. Not since childhood, not since Mello had met him, never. And he would _never_ just leave them on the floor. Never.

A cold, numbing sensation slowly entered the tips of the fingers which held the goggles loosely, spiderwebbing up his arm to enter his chest with a sickening iciness which had nothing to do with the snow outside.

He vaguely remembered pinning Matt against the wall what seemed centuries ago, dislodging his prized accessory and sending it tumbling to the floor near his boot.

But that had been…

Mello's eyes shifted up, staring blankly at the far wall near the bedroom door, at least six or seven feet away.

Even if it was likely Matt had not picked them up after their skirmish--and that thought in itself was nigh impossible--there was no way in hell they could have wound up halfway shoved underneath the couch all the way on the other side of the f-cking room…

Blue eyes swiveled back to the object in hand, and Mello felt the blood drain from his face.

He was sure, he was absolutely _positive_Matt hadn't been bleeding until after he'd lost his goggles. Even in the haze of rage, Mello was officially a genius and his memory was next to flawless. He remembered very clearly. He hadn't thrown a punch until much later. Not then. Not there. There had been no blood.

So why the f-ck, why in God's name, _why_ in the name of everything holy and precious in this world…

_Why _were there dark dried spots of muddy red spattered on those bright plastic lenses?

Mello was sure his heart was going to freeze within his chest as ice-cold terror tried to seize it. However, he managed to quell the useless feeling with difficulty, forcing himself to let go of his held breath, willing his fingers to unclench from the plastic before it snapped in his grip.

No need to panic. No need to worry. No need…

Standing slowly, the world spinning and his ears ringing loudly in his ears, Mello walked mechanically back toward the table, pulling the cell phone into his free hand.

His earlier resignation to merely leave a message explaining he knew precisely how worthless he was and that Matt had every right to escape from him left Mello's mind without a trace.

He knew, he _knew _Matt. He KNEW Matt!

_Matt would never leave…_

No, no, no, this wasn't like Matt at all!

_Not without his goggles anyway…_

This was all _wrong_, all f-cking WRONG.

_WHY is there blood? Why? F-ck, f-ck, F-CK, WHY?!_

His fingers did not tremble as he flipped open the device and there was a dull raging cobalt fire in Mello's eyes, the life returned to them after so many hours of dead numbness and doubt.

_Rrrrriing…._

The noise in his ear made his heart quiver like that of a frightened child but his face was determined, frowning vigorously at nothing, the pallid, unsure blankness finally gone, replaced with a burning, pressing urgency of purpose.

_Rrrrriing…_

No answer, no answer, no f-cking answer….

_Rrrriing…_

Click.

_There!_

Mello almost jumped at the nearly imperceptibly soft sound of the phone on the other side being flipped open.

He didn't wait, plunging ahead and almost choking on his words.

"Jesus f-cking _Christ_, MATT, where--?!"

And then the phone clicked again sharply and the line went dead and Mello was left staring vacantly in shock at thin air with the low steady beeping ringing in his ear for a full minute before he remembered to shut the phone with numb fingers.

Matt had hung up on him.

Mello slumped into a kitchen chair, clutching the bloody goggles to his chest expressionlessly.

He had hung up.


	13. Unforgivable

**AN: Sorry for the delay...again... This one's a bit longer, and the plot thickens...! (Excuse the somewhat cliche-ness of it though.) **

**Oh... and I'm changing the rating to M for violence (and maybe even more foul language, despite our lame censorship...) beginning with this chapter and increasing in later ones. Angst, torture, dark themes... You have been warned.**

* * *

The door swung open with the scrape of old metal against concrete and a blinding ray of light shot into the dank room, disappearing just as quickly when the door shut behind the small knot of men who entered through it.

Once again, only the weak light of a single bulb tried vainly to illuminate the large empty storage room which blocked out all outside daylight.

Paul Mercado strode forward confidently, smiling brightly, hands stuck nonchalantly in his coat pockets. He stood before the single chair in the room, peering down his nose at its occupant, and motioned the other two men who had come with him forward.

A minute passed, but he gave no more orders. He'd seen the boy shift when the light hit him. He would come around soon. Paul was not in any hurry.

"Matt…" he called softly, mockingly, in a repulsive sing-song tone. "Time to wake up now, Matt…"

Matt had awoken the moment he had heard footsteps approaching the door, but had feigned sleep in the unlikely chances that he might overhear something, anything of value.

And somewhere, a very small and wishful part of his mind hoped that maybe, just maybe if he was asleep, his captor would go away.

He knew the thought was foolish, and it was proven so when the sounds of that smooth, smooth voice reached his ears. Smooth and deceiving in its gentle tones, like the very coils of a snake. He knew the horrors of the hidden fangs laced with venom slinking just out of sight behind the serene façade.

Damn.

He felt like shit.

Even more so then yesterday. Every bruise and scrape on his body was aching, and he wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but it hadn't been restful. It'd been too full of blood and screams and failure to be anywhere near restful.

And so he allowed his eyes to open slowly, wincing at how even after only a few hours of sleep, (he guessed) the small amount of brightness filtering into the room from the single flickering bulb was too strong for his photosensitive eyes. God, he wanted his goggles.

He didn't squint though, nor did he blink. He wouldn't show any more weakness to this bastard, not if he could help it.

At the very least, the meager amount of sleep had reenergized him a bit, and he was now able to lift his head without feeling sick to his stomach.

Matt met the sadistic golden eyes with steel emerald.

It was going to take a lot more than physical pain to beat this gamer, and he was going to make that very clear. It wasn't as though he hadn't been through worse.

He remained silent, not acknowledging the man's false serenity, and kept their gazes locked.

Paul smiled pleasantly down at him. "Good morning... well, more like afternoon. I had some other business to attend to, so I'm afraid I couldn't drop by earlier." He shrugged, as if apologizing for being late to a business meeting.

There were two other men with him, one of them recognizable as the man who had led the group which had come for Matt in the apartment, what now seemed like centuries ago. They stood casually, but in a way as if at attention, and it was immediately very clear who the person in charge was.

Paul's smile spread a little. "I hope you got some rest, Matt. Today's a big day. We get to start our little game." There was a dangerously amused gleam in his eyes as he clasped his hands behind the small of his back, leaning forward slightly toward Matt to be a bit more at eye-level. "I was thinking we should invite the other player today... Let him know the rules... the stakes... Won't that be _fun_?"

The wolfish grin he shot Matt had the uncanny look of teeth bared to lunge at his throat.

The boy didn't flinch, despite every nerve in his body screaming _danger danger danger!_ Instead he kept his eyes level, his expression set, and tried to decipher the threat behind those words, what little thought process was left of his warped mind focusing and narrowing in on two words.

Other player, other player, other player…

_NO._

He grasped at endless impossible possibilities, and each time came up with the same answer.

There was only one person who those words could possibly refer to, try as he might to come up with some other plausible substitution.

He remained silent, but everything inside his body was working at the speed of light trying to do something, _anything._

He drew a blank, and the only thoughts that came to mind were whispers of self-condemnation because he _knew_ he was going to fail again.

_God damn it, NO!_

He unconsciously pulled at the ropes that bound his wrists, but had to wince when the cords began to cut into open flesh and he felt something warm trickle down his battered hands.  
_Mello…_

He hated appearing weak, hated the desperateness that he knew was evident in his actions, but he didn't care anymore. There were now other, much more important things to worry about, and he found himself suddenly glad that his wrists were soaked in blood. The liquid would hopefully make it easier to slide his hands out. Hopefully.

He had to stop him, had to stop this lunatic from doing whatever it was he wanted to do to Mello.

Matt's head hurt again but he continued trying to think, continued ripping his hands open, because… because he was supposed to protect him! He was supposed to stop this kind of thing from happening! And he couldn't…

_F-ck…Mello…I didn't mean…I'm…I'm sorry…  
_"Oh?" The soft sound from Paul's lips did not seem to reach the boy as he tuned out all else and jerked at his bonds. Paul noticed impassively that there was dried blood on his hands. From last night probably. Fool of a boy, really, but spirited.

Paul knew it was more fun that way. More fun to break the spirited ones. More fun to hear them scream and watch the gleam of loathing in their eyes deteriorate into something pathetic and pleading and dead.

"Ashworth," he called suddenly, straightening and motioning vaguely with a hand. "Why don't you help the boy out of his reverie? He may bleed to death if he cuts his wrists deep enough and that's no good."

The sugar-coated tone was gone, replaced by something harsh and cruel, a cold gleam in dark golden eyes, a mad twitch as his lips twisted into a half smile, an impatient shift of his weight, something dangerous and horribly gleeful and sickeningly sadistic.

The man who had led the break-in nodded, mumbling something to his comrade, who stepped behind the chair, strong many-ringed fingers gripping the back bracingly, as if expecting its occupant to try to topple it over. Paul inclined his head approvingly, watching with that same gleam in his eye, almost excitement, but much harsher, sharper, more vicious.

Ashworth reached into his coat, smiling a little as he noticed the boy's eyes flicker toward him, knowing exactly what he expected. But the man did not procure a gun. The small black object in his hand was long and slightly curved, just enough to fit in his palm comfortably.

As he stepped closer, moving in front of the chair, a tiny flicker of blue light crackled at the end of the instrument.

Paul grinned, leaning in closer. Slowly, he pulled something from his pocket, just letting it sit in his hand as he waited. It was red and glinted dully in the dim light, a soft glow letting Paul know when he glanced down that there was a missed call. Missed Calls. The number was not portrayed.

Ashworth shot his boss an expectant glance, waiting for the affirmative nod before taking another step, frowning as the bound young man leaned forward, head bowed, shoulders hunched protectively as far as he could make them, cringing away to shield his defenseless front.

Paul nodded again, whispering something that sounded faintly like, "Now, now, Matt, that won't do..." and the man behind the boy moved his hands up, pushing a knee on the back of the chair to brace it before grasping the sides of the boy's shoulders roughly, pulling him up, chest out as his back was forced to arc against the backrest, ignoring the choked gasp the movement ripped from the captive's throat.

And the other man's hand shot out, and Paul leaned in to watch, and there was a crackle of electricity and a rattle of wood as the chair shook, and the man was pressing the thin black object to Matt's skin, small sharp barbs hooking onto the fabric of his shirt, landing just beneath the middle of his ribs.

White teeth gleamed in the dimness, a rabid wolf watching his prey struggle futilely.

Matt recognized the small gleam of a familiar red cell phone, but before he could take the time to question its purpose, he felt something attach itself to the front of his shirt, and tear slightly into the skin of his chest.

For a moment, Matt wasn't aware of anything, and the world disappeared into a white hot flash. Then, what he guessed could have only been a fraction of a second later his world erupted into agony, a million tiny needles, digging into every inch of his body, their tips glowing hot, and cauterizing as they entered. Slowly, achingly, excruciatingly, digging deeper, beyond his skin, reaching into his veins and mixing oil with blood before throwing a match into the boiling liquid cells.

He must have been screaming, but he couldn't tell if the echo of torment came from his lips, or was merely a reverberation of his mind.

He was aware of nothing but the pain until suddenly, and without warning it ceased. His body slumped exhausted against the chair, and every ache that had been forgotten in the presence of such an overwhelming force came backten fold. He gasped heavily, every nerve in his body still on edge.

Matt was suddenly glad it wasn't information they were after because it hurt so much, and he just wanted it to stop, and he wasn't sure that he could have kept from telling him whatever it was this psycho wanted to hear.

He choked back the sob that came to his throat, but allowed his chin to sink into his heaving chest.

He couldn't form coherent thoughts, and he closed his eyes tightly, wishing for nothing more at the moment than for everything to just go away.

A sickly familiar voice floated over from above. "Matt..."

Paul smiled, not bothering to hide the sadistic glee in his voice. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you..." The blatant lie was also not concealed, mocking him. Paul flipped the cell phone -- Matt's cell phone-- open with a soft snap, pressing Speed Dial 1.

Bingo. He hadn't even tried it before, knowing it didn't really matter since he'd checked the Contact List anyway, but he was pleased with his correct guess regardless.

"Your friend called earlier," Paul continued quietly, finger hovering over the send button. He didn't mention the number of times. He hadn't bothered to count.

"It's only polite that we call him back, don't you agree, Matt?"

The blood that moments ago had been boiling hot was suddenly frozen in his veins, as finally something clicked, green eyes widening in horror as Matt realized his captor's intentions.

His voice was raw and his throat hoarse, but it didn't stop him from screaming at the dark haired sadist.

"YOU F-CKING BASTARD!" He pulled against the cords again furiously, desperately trying to stall what he knew was going to take place. He ignored the burn of his wrists against the rope, ignored the throbbing of his shoulder every time he moved, and ignored every aching muscle that shouted at him in protest.

_NO F-CKING WAY. NO F-CKING WAY COULD HE LET THIS HAPPEN._

He lot out a half choked sob when the men in the room held him to his place, but continued to uselessly struggle against his bonds.

The exhausted brunette didn't even notice that the streaks of water falling down his face were no longer caused by sweat or even blood, until the first drop hit his lip, leaving him with a salty bitter taste.

He had failed and Mello was going to pay for his mistakes once again.

Paul almost laughed out loud. Was the boy really _crying?_ His only thought was a darkly amused, _'Already?'_

"Ashworth," he called again, thumb pressing into the little green button slowly. He debated for a second whether to put Speaker on now. He decided to wait.

Holding up the phone to his ear casually, Paul leaned against the nearest wall, free hand in his pocket, and nodded toward his men. Just before the first ring, he remembered to remind them to keep a gag nearby just in case the boy tried to bite his tongue. Always had to watch out for the spirited ones, he knew. Sometimes they even did it on purpose.

Absentmindedly watching the hapless boy's shoulders trembling with silent tears, Paul listened eagerly. One ring. He waved a hand toward Ashworth, who positioned himself before the boy once more, the thin high-powered taser in hand.

Half a second in between.

Another ring... No, it didn't even finish ringing.

Paul smiled, wondering what to say first. There were so many things he'd like to tell the blonde monster, after all. So many things he'd like to show him in the most painful ways imaginable.

This was going to be _fun._

_"For you, Em..."_ he whispered in his mind as a half-choked near-panicked shriek came from the other end. _"To avenge you..."_

 _- ___

Mello paced. He covered the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room, every corner of the apartment in a matter of seconds, then did it again. The bubbling terrified energy in his stomach wouldn't let him sit back down, the goggles clutched tightly in one hand.

A discarded chocolate lay on the counter. He'd only managed to take one bite before glancing back down at the dried dark-red smatter on the lenses.

Now he paced, and cursed, and kicked things. It only lasted about five minutes though, because the wild raging debate in his head would not cease.

Had Matt really just hung up on him? What the f-ck was going on?

_Of course Matt would never do that_! And this thought had terrified him and sent him leaping from his seat and pacing the room. He couldn't leave, just in case. So he just ran circles in the tiny space and worried and created significant dents in the metal weapons cabinet and some of the walls.

And then once in a while, the other thought would spring up. Matt _had_ hung up. On purpose. Because he didn't want to talk to Mello ever again.

And that thought terrified him as well and sent him slumping into his chair at the table with his head falling weakly into his arms and his back slumped and shoulders hunched, broken and pathetic like an old rag doll. Then he would try again and call and listen and... And he was really beginning to hate Matt's answering machine very, very much.

It was during one of these moods--these times when he was limp and useless and broken and halfway sprawled over the kitchen table with his head in his arms and his bangs splayed out in drastic golden contrast over the black fabric of his sleeves and he thought all hope was gone and he just _didn't understand_ and wanted Matt _back_, goddamit--that it _finally, FINALLY _happened.

The phone rang, the Mario theme startling the dejected blonde as he jumped a foot in the air and leaped right out of his seat and into the other room with the feel of plastic vibrating madly in his hand.

His heart leaped as well, and banged against his ribs in a ridiculously upbeat cadence, and he almost laughed and almost punched something again, but for now he settled with diving into mad and fast pacing from one corner of the room to another.

His fingers fumbled on the first ring--_God, _he'd never been so f-cking happy to hear a stupid video game tune before in his life--but it only took another split second, and he nearly pulled the phone apart as he flipped it open aggressively, jamming it to his ear, and shouting at the top of his lungs without giving a damn if there were neighbors.

"HOLY F-CK, **MATT**, WHERE THE _F-CK_ HAVE YOU _**BEEN??"**_

But then Mello froze in his steps and forgot to breathe and the angry and worried words which were set to come next mixed in a string of expletives simply died in his throat, just suddenly _gone_ and replaced by the most numbing, incapacitating cold which spread through his lungs and filled his veins with icy fire and he almost couldn't even see anymore and all that floated before him was the image of those stained goggles and blood, and failure, and screams...

And screams...

He didn't know whose voice that was on the phone, darkly bidding him a phony casual 'good day.'

He didn't know what made the back of his neck bristle or his lips curl in a snarl to bare his sharp white incisors.

He didn't know if the faint cries he heard in the background were real or merely dredged up from his too-fresh memories...

But he _did_ know... _he__**did **__know,_ that whoever this was, he was _not Matt…_he was _not.. NOT...__**NOT MATT.**_

Not Matt.

Mello tried to keep his voice steady, but it came out in a shuddering hiss.

"...Who the f-ck...are _you_?"

The corners of Paul's already smirking lips rose up a little higher as a kind of exhilarating rush of glee filled him and he found himself struggling not to full-on grin.

It just wouldn't do to get so excited right from the start. He clicked his tongue rhythmically, chastising his guest on the phone for such obvious impatience.

"Well now, that wasn't a very polite greeting towards a stranger." He waved his finger around in the air despite the fact that there was no one there to see, but continued before the vicious growl could start up again, lest he lose his quickly vanishing self-restraint and ruin the surprise planned for later.

There was no fun in doing that just yet, not until he'd had a little time to… play.

"Then again, I guess we wouldn't quite be strangers now, would we, Mello? Though," and he did laugh out loud for a second, "I doubt you remember me quite as well as I remember you."

The voice on the phone was steadily rising in volume and pitch, and the second time was a muffled, barely-restrained shriek.

"I _asked,_" Mello spoke again with the cell shaking slightly in his trembling hand, the plastic edges digging into his fingers until the device should have crumpled in his death-grip. "_Who the f-ck are you?"_

Every violent threat imaginable filled those words, and Mello only very vaguely wondered with a new small twinge of something close to panic how this bastard--whoever the f-ck he was--knew his name.

But the thought was hardly important enough to constitute much of anything over the other question echoing loudly and throbbing painfully in his head.

_Who was this and why in hell did he have __**Matt's**__ cell phone and __**where was Matt, **__**f-ckdammit?!**_

"Drop the attitude, you motherf-cking shitbag, and answer me," he hissed, and stood absolutely still and his heart hammered on his ribs, and he wished desperately he could just grab his gun and shoot straight through the goddam phone line to the other side, and _where the f-ck was Matt, goddammit!?_

Paul grinned in absolute ecstasy. He could hear it. He could hear the terror and panic building in the infuriated voice beyond the receiver, just a breath away from hysteria. God, it was absolutely intoxicating. It was brilliant, and exhilarating, and…and…so goddamn delicious that he thought he might choke on it right there and then, and never be able to breathe right again_._

He held his free hand out in front of himself, admiring the way the thrills of elation sent tremors through his body, his fingers shaking even as he pulled them into a loose fist.

He began to open and close his hand rhythmically, eyes intent on keeping watch on the quivering fingers as he took what was meant to be a calming breath, though it did nothing to quell the giddiness that was quickly overcoming him.

"My name is Paul." He started bluntly, fingers still moving systematically in the air.

"But you, Mello, you wouldn't remember me, wouldn't know _me_. The person you would know, her name was Emilia, and she was my sister."

At this point Paul's eyes ceased to follow the play of his wiggling fingers, eyes glazed over and seeing something else, something from a time long ago. The pause was brief, however, and too short for the boy on the other line to get in a word.

"She was my sister, and she was brilliant. She was brilliant, and beautiful, and strong. Though…I'm sure that's not much of a description to go by, true as it may be."

His hand finally stopped its twitching, and he found himself reaching into his pocket, and withdrawing a thin sheet of paper from his Armani wallet. His eyes found the photograph, and he began to narrate, taking in the details slowly.

"She was lovely, really, Emilia. Her eyes were this deep, deep hazel, and I remember, she always joked that I was adopted because I didn't have the same eye color as her… when she would get mad, she'd just point to my eyes and scream, 'you're not my brother!' right to my face too, didn't care if anyone else was around..."

Paul chuckled lightly at the memory, but continued on, serene smile masking the intense loathing that had begun to creep its way into his chest.

"She also had this thick long black hair that she was _always_ complaining about getting in the way, and it was never curly, but always had this slight wave to it…as much as she complained about it though, she must have loved it, else she would have chopped it all off…I mean, in that line of work, it was better to get rid of anything that could be a hindrance like that… but then, I guess that brings me to my point…" He paused again, a dangerous edge beginning to make it into his voice when he started up again.

Paul allowed his fingers to dig into his palms, losing himself for a moment in the comforting background noise of muffled screams, relishing his soon-to-be victory.

"You see…Emilia didn't have a normal job like other girls because her family--my family--had a name to uphold… and being the over-achiever that she was, Emilia wanted to do her part to the best of her ability… so she went to Ross."

He stopped then, allowing a moment for his words to sink in before he went further. After a moment had passed, and he found the silence tearing at his insides, willing him to keep speaking… to make this monster _hurt_, he finished in a mockingly sweet voice.

"You starting to remember her yet, Mello?" he asked, eyes seeing nothing but the shuddering, weak intakes of breath by the boy sitting a few feet in front of him, ears hearing nothing but the pathetic whimpers that were almost inaudible at this point, head filled with nothing but wonderful, wonderful fulfillment.

Mello didn't realize he'd forgotten to breathe until his knees nearly gave out, and he swayed slightly, catching himself on the back of the couch. Finally drawing oxygen into his screaming lungs, his brain scrambled wildly and sifted madly through memories, ears straining to catch again those faint, faint cries he thought maybe were in the background that made every hair on his arms and neck stand on edge and the words of the man on the phone fade into a nearly incomprehensible buzz, though of course he'd heard, he'd had to...

Then finally he remembered.

Years ago. Some girl. A spy. Inconsequential, but any information could be used and so he'd used it to his advantage. In the Mob, it was always survival of the fittest. Mello was good at that. Easy to remember, simple to understand. You make a mistake, you fail, you die, end of story. He'd gotten pretty far with only that one thought in mind. Only the strongest made it through to see the light of the next day; the weak were simply eliminated. Erased.

Like...

Like that girl. Mello caught himself getting off track and pushed his thoughts back onto to correct path. Yes, she'd been a spy. Maybe her name was Emilia. He didn't know. He didn't care.

No, there was something else.

He was getting distracted. The cries had stopped and now he was certain they'd been there and the sick sensation crawling in his stomach was trying to convince him of something else which his mind simply refused to accept right now.

And then he realized what this was about. Vaguely, foggily, he thought he knew what this freak was upset about.

The spy. He'd turned her in to Ross. Right, that was it. He remembered now.

The information was small but it had given him the leverage he needed to team up with Rod Ross, the infamous LA mafia boss with an unprecedented amount of terror attached to his name--that is, until Mello had been deemed his equal, perhaps even surpassed him in that field.

So that was what this "Paul" was going on about... The girl. Mello had only seen her a few times. He didn't even really remember what she looked like, despite Paul's descriptions. It had never really mattered. She had been merely a means to an end, and he'd be damned if he felt sorry for her when it had been very clear she was in the business of her own volition and, if memory served him well, she'd also had quite a large mouth. He couldn't remember really interacting with her face-to-face, but he remembered he didn't like her attitude. Not that any of it mattered anyway.

It all led back to the moment, this moment, this second of silence with Mello gripping the couch backrest until his fingers hurt and the wood creaked and threatened to splinter in his grip.

What did this psycho want?

And _where was Matt?_

The urge to vomit grew stronger as his mind tried to bring up the faint cries which had suddenly stopped in the background, but Mello quelled it harshly.

The girl. She'd died. Right? That must be it. That must be what he was freaking out about, whoever this irritating insect was.

Mello forced his throat to loosen and his voice to work, casual, almost bored.

His eyes burned fiercely and there was a snap as the wood broke, leaving an odd slump in the backrest.

"Sure, I think I may recall someone by that name. A spying, annoying little broad, I think. Ross said he took care of her."

His ears strained to hear beyond the other's voice on the phone but there was nothing. Maybe he'd been imagining it.

The knot in his stomach told him that he hadn't.

It was only the knowledge of what was to come that kept Paul restrained, kept him from losing it over those comments. He reminded himself that there was no reason to be upset, he'd already won this game, and Mello had been backed into a corner before he'd even begun playing.

"Yes, I guess that's one way of putting it, be assured the situation was," and he emphasized, "taken care of."

What Paul said next was just above a whisper.

"You see, Mello, it's very hard to lose someone you care about…no…more than lose…to know that they were ripped away from you by the hand of someone else…and of course, when I found out, I was very upset and, naturally, wanted to take revenge."

The smile that had vanished from his face only moments ago began to return as he took one step, and then another towards the other occupant of the room.

"But, to my disappointment, would you believe, that there was no one left alive for me to have my vengeance on?"

He continued the steady stride to his goal, fingers tightening around the cellular in anticipation.

"I was devastated to say the least, made me absolutely miserable, for something like four years now."

He paused here, allowing the silence to sink in for a moment, only fathoming what would come soon.

"But then. Then you came along a whole four years later, and you changed everything." Paul didn't even bother to try to cover the giddiness anymore, a delighted laugh bubbling up from his throat.

"I never expected you…didn't even think I would get my chance. And there you were, like the very demons of hell were offering you up on a platter right in front of me." A strange kind of smile replaced the sadistic grin and his amber eyes glinted dangerously.

"You don't know how happy you've made me, Mello."

He resumed his path, stopping only when he stood above his prisoner, enjoying the way the boy's body flinched involuntarily when his shadow fell across him.

"I thought about killing you right then and there…you wouldn't have even noticed, and it would have been just too easy…but you se, then I realized…I don't just want you dead, Mello. No, I want so much more than that."

Paul dropped the phone for a second, motioning with a casual flick of his hands for Ashworth to hand over the device in his hand, and sending both suited men behind the chair.

"Death would have been too merciful. No. I want you to understand what you did. I want you to understand EXACTLY what it feels like to lose someone important to you, Mello…"

Paul eyed the squirming boy in front of him and saw that despite his drug induced state of mind, those green eyes swam with comprehension. Comprehension and fear. He watched for a moment as theybored into his own, such absolute loathing clouded only by terror. Paul reached a hand slowly up to the boy's cheek, fingering the gag there, and desperately wishing to remove it. It would be so much more fun that way. He laughed aloud when Matt jerked his head away, and sadly gave up on the idea. The boy would surely bite his own tongue off, and he couldn't allow him to die just yet. No, not so early on.

He looked down at the phone still in his hand, as though just remembering that it was there and brought it back up to his lips, but then on second thought brought it back down, changing the phone to 'speaker mode' and holding it up between himself and Matt.

"I want to teach you a lesson, Mello…"

He brought the small instrument that he'd received from Ashworth up to Matt's chest, hovered over his neck for a while, and then finally-- upon remembering one of his men mentioning that he thought they'd broken a rib on the left side-- settled on a spot in the middle of the left half of the boy's ribcage.

"So please, be a good student," He flicked the tiny silver switch resting against his palm, "And listen."

Gag be damned, that boy could _scream_.

There was a second in which Mello didn't know if his heart had stopped beating, so overwhelming and complete was the silence as the weight and implication of the stranger's words sank in. But before he could even attempt to dismiss this all as a very bad joke, he knew.

_I want you to understand exactly what it feels like to lose someone important to you, Mello…_

He didn't know who this bastard was, he'd never met a Paul in his goddam life, and he couldn't give a shit about his ridiculous revenge, but...

He _did_ know that there was only one person he still considered important to him. Only one person, one person he kept dear, only one person who cared if he got home in one piece, only one person who tended his wounds if he got shot, and made him play video games and go drinking and dancing and bought him chocolate and always watched his back no matter what. Only one person.

The thought hardly took a second to process. A second to understand. To realize. Just a second of silence.

And then Mello's world disintegrated around him, the earth disappeared beneath his feet and the breath stopped in his lungs and his blood froze in his veins.

And that single sound crashed upon his ears, into his entire being, and tried to carve out his heart with a thousand daggers of ice that left him numb and frozen and unable to even drop upon his knees and reach for his cross and the thought that maybe it would go away if he just tried hard enough to wake up didn't even have the time to cross his frozen mind.

Those ear-shattering, piercing, agonized, ghastly, incapacitating, heart-stopping, blood-curdling, tormented _screams._

The breath which was valiantly attempting to deliver much-needed oxygen into his lungs hitched in his throat and he released it in shallow, ragged gasps, chest aflame as his eyes widened involuntarily, the blood leaving his already pale face more pallid and lifeless than that of a corpse.

Holy mother of Jesus, sweet Christ and Savior of all living things, God above, and every saint and angel who had ever graced the earth or Heavens...

He _knew_ that voice.

He'd recognize it anywhere.

It was the voice of the one person who had never abandoned him, the one person who had cared for him no matter what had happened, the one person who'd stayed by his side since childhood, the one person who made him laugh with genuine delight and smile with sincerity, the one person who had seen his tears, his flaws, his weaknesses, and still stood by his side regardless, the one person from whom he had ever gladly accepted a helping hand, the one person who could insult him and he would laugh it off, the one person who could tend his injuries and cover him with an old sweatshirt when he fell asleep, the one person who smelled of cheap cologne and cigarettes and home, the one person whom he could never, ever, _ever_ fail again...

And that person was screaming into his ear now, shrieking in most unspeakable pain and torment and agony and torture.

And there was nothing, nothing, _nothing _he could do but stand here in the middle of the living room knowing nothing and understanding less and merely listen, listen as those blood-curdling cries grew in volume and intensity until he wanted to dig out his own heart if it would make them stop.

There was hardly room for hate within the feeling slowly creeping into his chest and gripping his lungs in an icy grasp which left him breathless and dizzy and with a sheet of blackness before his wide staring eyes. Mihael Kheel, Mello, the nameless, desperate youth who stood now frozen by the broken couch, had only felt such a sensation once before in his life. Once before, on a freezing winter night filled with gunshots and the screech of speeding tires and the rasping, fading breath of the bleeding best friend on his lap.

It was a feeling he had sworn would never freeze his blood again, because he would never let such a thing happen a second time.

Yet now it gripped him with double the force of pain and guilt and horror.

Helplessness. Terror. Devastation.

He could care less in that moment that he was probably walking right into the trap of the sick bastard on the other side of the phone line. Every other coherent thought left Mello's mind then and he heard and knew nothing else but _his _voice and _his_ anguish and _his_ pain.

He could barely force his lungs to work, barely draw enough breath to rasp out a single choked and trembling syllable.

"Matt...!!"

The pathetic, barely audible word reverberated in Paul's ears, sending a chill of pleasure shooting down his spine, and lacing his blood like an intoxicant. He was absolutely glowing. Feral amber eyes gleamed in utter satisfaction and for a moment when he closed them, his whole world consisted only of those stunningly beautiful screams, and that miserable, pathetic excuse for existence on the other side of the phone. It was absolutely and completely perfect. The total agony and misery that bled from that one single word had been more pain-filled even than he had imagined.

God, _everything _was so much better than what he had imagined.

But still…still it wasn't enough.

Images of Emilia's torn and battered body entered his vision, coloring his gaze red, and taunting the pointlessness of his futile attempts at vengeance.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, still lost in a euphoric haze, but satisfaction dimming as he began to come back to himself little by little.

Her normally caramel colored skin, pale and sickly and wrong, her delicate hazel eyes clear, milky, and unseeing, her perfect tiny hands, twisted and mangled, her lovely black tresses were tangled, and bits of skin and blood formed unsightly clumps of matted hair.

It wouldn't bring her back.

No matter how loud the boy screamed, Paul would never hear her musical laughter again.

No matter how many bones he broke, her body would never be put back together.

No matter how much he beat, bruised, and tortured the worthless lump of quivering flesh in front of him, he could never, N_everNeverNever_, have her back.

It wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

His sadistic glee from only moments ago had vanished into nothingness, leaving only swelling anger and bitter loathing behind. He was no longer in the mood to play.

Not now.

After some mental debate, he removed the Taser from its place on Matt's chest, eyeing the boy in something akin to disgust and pity. though even the pity didn't stretch too far. People made their own choices in life, and Matt had chosen wrongly.

Paul was pulled out of his silent reverie when he became suddenly aware of the weight of his arm still holding the cell phone up to the trembling boy.

He glared at the phone in repulsion before switching it back from speaker phone and bringing it up to his own lips.

Despite the pangs of unfulfilled revenge tearing away at his very core, he was by no means discouraged enough to simply end the call and let Mello off so easily.

He spoke slowly, in a deceivingly serene voice.

"We'll be in touch, Mello. And don't worry about Matt; I'll be taking good care of him."

And with an effortless tap of a button, he severed the connection with a meaningless click.

A quiet, deafening click.

And then nothingness.

And the echoes, repeating, reverberating silently, thunderously, not there, not going away.

Mello's cellular fell to the carpet with a muffled thump, dropped carelessly from nerveless fingers, still open and beeping feebly for a few seconds before it seemed to give up and the backlight flicked off, leaving only silence.

The carpet stifled the slow, trembling booted footsteps which carried their owner shakily toward the other room, but Mello didn't quite make it to the door. He didn't even know where he was going until he found himself in the corner behind the metal cabinet, tucked neatly in the crevice of connecting walls with his knees drawn up to his chest as if he were back in the comforting darkness of the attic and everything would go away if he curled up tightly enough and refused to let it in. It was a childish half-thought, a forgotten habit from years past, years he'd much rather forget and never think about again, but at the moment Mello's thin frame folded itself and tried to disappear into the corner with no thought even of how ridiculous and useless such a feat was.

His throat constricted painfully, breath rattling in his chest in quick shallow gasps, dry sobs, hysteria threatening to conquer his senses and blanket his vision in blood.

_"I'll be taking good care of Matt..."_

That dark, sickening, sadistic laugh filled his ears and mixed with piercing screams until he thought he should drown in the volley of nonexistent sound assailing his mind.

No... No... NoNoNoNo...

_Nononononononononono..._

It was the only thing he could think of.

_Matt... Matt... no... no..._

Pale, trembling blue eyes chanced to glance down at the blood-smeared orange goggles in his left hand, and Mello's world erupted in screams once more until he was sure his own throat would tear and bleed from their force and volume.

His mind was numb. Even thoughts of guilt and failure and self-loathing barely skittered across the emptiness and were gone. This was like...

No, this was worse. Far worse.

Because last time, he'd known what to do. Last time, he _could_ do something, anything, and he could move with purpose and feel like he was at least helping in some way and that he was doing all in his power and even if it wasn't enough and he never forgave himself at least he had _tried_ and at least he'd been _there._

But this was far, far worse.

This time, he was useless, and pathetic, and sitting here like a quivering lump of helplessness embodied and _Matt wasn't here_ and there was _nothing he could do_ and he could never, ever, everevereverever forgive himself because he had _failed_ and it was _all his fault_ because he had left and he had abandoned Matt and he had...

Oh, God. He'd _hurt _him too, hadn't he?

He'd hurt him and left him defenseless and alone and just _f-cking ABANDONED him _and _God damn him to eternal hellfire RIGHT NOW _for doing something _SO F-CKING HORRIBLE and heartless and unforgivable._

Unforgivable.

He could never forgive himself now, nevernevernever, not with those tormented screams in his head and those bloodstained lenses before his eyes and the guilt, the _guilt_, the GUILT eating his heart from the inside out and leaving nothing but a bleeding, throbbing _emptiness_ that should have been filled by an existence called Matt. But Matt was simply not here and _it was all Mello's fault._

Unforgivable. UNFORGIVABLE. _**UNFORGIVABLE.**_

Mello sensed himself panicking. From far away, from miles and oceans and worlds away, he realized it slowly even as he realized precisely that what had happened was so only because he had been stupid and overemotional and had left in a storm of blind fury and wretchedness. Because he hadn't been here to prevent it. Because he had abandoned the one person who had never ever ever ever abandoned _him _no matter how much he deserved it.

And now that person _needed him._

And he was sitting here cowering pathetically and doing nothing.

Unforgivable.

Sucking in a long, quivering breath, Mello grabbed the wall with his free hand, black-polished fingernails digging into the paint and leaving deep grooves as he hauled himself up with trembling knees and he realized vaguely his palm was bleeding from four half-moon marks where his nails had apparently ripped open the skin. Funny, he didn't even remember when that had happened. The faint realization that the edge of the plastic lenses had also bitten into his skin to the point where his own blood mixed with the dried horror already there didn't even faze him in the slightest and it hurt much less than the horrible hole in the middle of his chest where every good feeling in the world had been ripped away in a bleeding clump of flesh and blood and left only a terrible, terrible _rawness. _

No. He couldn't, he _wouldn't_ just sit here like the pathetic wretch he was. Even as the wave of nausea and horror and helplessness tried to steal his senses and send him back to the floor in a crumpled quivering heap, Mello quelled it roughly, harshly, mercilessly.

No, he wasn't denying anything. On the contrary, he knew very, very well how much he deserved every rending, tearing, bleeding throb which wracked his chest with every feeble trembling beat of his heart. But even if his very existence now was an abomination and an indelible sin, still…

Somewhere between the frozen fire in his veins and the screams in his head and wallowing in his own wretchedness, he came slowly to the realization: These were all useless.

_Useless_ and unneeded.

He would not have it. Not now.

His mind tried to shiver and shatter and break under the weight of those horrible sweetly mocking words of the stranger on the phone, but he gradually decided he would not let it and with slow but firm steps, the distressed blonde forced his body to move.

He didn't know where the bastard had come from all of a sudden, or how he knew about Matt, and _f-ck, f-ck, WHY had he dragged him into the conflict if it was just supposed to be between him and Mello?!_ but he did know what he wanted.

_No._

He knew what this Paul character wanted, knew immediately. He'd seen it done enough times in his years in the mafia.

But he would not, _could not_ break.

He would not be underestimated. He would not allow it. Not ever, and certainly not when Matt needed him.

Even if it _was_ all his fault--_and of course it was--_ he could wallow pathetically in guilt _later._

Matt came first. **Matt.**

And he would get Matt back no matter f-cking what and that bastard would _pay_ because _no one, __**no one, NO ONE**_ had the right to take Matt away from him.

The only person in the world permitted to do such a thing was Matt himself. No one else.

And Mello knew, knew instinctively and surely with utmost confidence as his hand clenched around the precious goggles, how Matt had struggled and dropped and left behind his most prized possession and that he hadn't left of his own accord.

If Matt wanted him gone, if he wanted to leave, Mello would not stop him and would not force his presence on him. But NO ONE had the right to tear him away without his consent.

Slowly, allowing his brain to work furiously with such thoughts, Mello finally felt the familiar warmth of rage waking up within his chest, creeping forth and stealing over him until feeling returned to his numb fingers and a flicker of life crept back into his dead blue eyes and he compelled the desperation and hopelessness attempting to claim him to shrink and hide, pushing it as far away as possible though unable to completely dispel it before Matt was by his side once more.

He tried not to dwell on the fact he knew nothing, not where Matt was, not who held him now and how and why he had been dragged into such horrid ghosts of a past not even his own, and not what they were doing to him to make him scream like that…

It was the hardest thing in the world, pushing away the panic and trying to silence the shrieks in his head, but slowly, firmly, a fiery determined glint returned to Mello's eyes because he knew, had trained himself after years and years of grappling with his own mind and circumstances, to realize when he needed to act.

And now was one of those times.

Immediately.

He needed to _do something_, anything, because inaction was simply unforgivable and Mello had never been the type of person to sit still anyway.

And so--even though he had no idea of anything but the gripping tightness in his chest around the emptiness where he knew something belonged but had been ripped away forcefully--Mello grabbed his coat, stooped quickly to pick up his phone, seized his gloves and keys from the counter, and was out the door and down the street and on his bike with the roar of the engine finally drowning out the fading shrieks in his head.

And he did not dare stop because he was terrified that if he did, he'd find himself alone in the corner again.

No, he had to focus, not let hopelessness and desperation seize his mind again. And so he let the wind slapping his chest and arms and howling in his helmet drown out the world around until he could finally begin to grasp at coherent thought again.

Matt came first, but worry and panic were incapacitating. And he could not afford that.

So Mello settled instead on anger and loathing and familiar thoughts of challenge and victory and always coming out on top.

Although the stakes were higher this time… But that only fueled the iron-willed fire in his eyes.

This Paul, whoever the f-ck he was, _would not_ win at whatever little game he was attempting. Mello knew the way men like him worked. He knew what he was planning. And he _would not succeed._

_No one_ could force him to crack, _NO ONE _could break Mihael Kheel, Mello, Wammy's best and brightest, not after all he'd been through and especially not when he knew he was still needed by at least one person on this Earth.

He had to assume Matt still needed him, in any case.

It was the only thought that kept him going, and he didn't care if it was a lie or if the truth was that it was actually just _he_ who needed Matt back for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend but were frightfully important regardless.

But he wasn't about to sit back down to sort out his scrambled thoughts and emotions because he knew vaguely that he might never get back up and had never been good at such things anyway.

Right now, all he needed to know was that something was wrong.

And he was going to _do something about it_ and _fix it_ goddammit.

Mello had never been very apt at clearing his mind. In fact, he worked best if he _wasn't_ lost in the vast numb emptiness that tried to consume him if he ever tried, so he merely jammed unnecessary thoughts away and crammed them toward the back of his head and pulled forth one thing alone to focus on.

He needed to find Matt.

The first step to getting him back from this sick bastard was finding him, and whatever the f-ck Paul wanted could wait or didn't matter because he just wanted Matt _back_ goddammit!

He didn't know how many hours it took him to finally calm down enough to trust himself and let himself return to the empty apartment, but he knew he could not afford to waste any more time or risk his body failing him again, so finally Mello veered off the freeway and made his way back.

It was dark by now, but his appetite had fled him long ago along with any other awareness apart from that of what he had to do.

There was nothing else _to_ do.

Step one: trace the call.

Figure out where the hell the bastard was because at least that was a start and Matt might still be there too.

He was sure he'd be told sooner or later; that was how the game was played. But he couldn't afford to wait that long. Couldn't afford to wait at all.

Shoving away--with some difficulty and the taste of bile in his throat--the images that floated up unbidden from past experiences witnessing similar occurrences in the Mob, he pulled up every computer in the house and arrayed them around him.

Matt may be the computer guru, but Mello was no pushover himself.

Cell phone. Trace the call. Find him.

It was possible; he'd done it before. It was very easy for Matt, of course, but Mello did not suffer from delusions of superiority in this one field and settled himself for hours of work.

He could do it. He _had to._ And he would. For Matt.

And then he'd f-cking _slaughter_ the motherf-cking bastard who _dared_ to try to screw with them like this.

Mello's fingers hurried across keyboard after keyboard, the electronic glow lighting his flushed cheeks.

But hour after hour, even the faint color left over from the bite of the cold wind began to fade and pale and his face was left even more pallid and drawn. And hour after hour after hour, he just couldn't do anything and every step he tried to take stuck and took him nowhere as various blocks and defenses barred his way and jammed his systems and, holy shit, for the very first time in his life he wished desperately that Matt had made some sort of mistake with the electronics…

But hour after hour it slowly, painfully dawned on him: he wasn't good enough.

Matt had done something, blocked things, put up safeguards.

Made himself untraceable.

And Mello won't good enough to break it. Mello just wasn't good enough because Matt was so damn brilliant when it came to anything with wires and Mello simply wasn't up to par and holyf-ckdammit he just _couldn't get through._

A mocking, sarcastic voice in his head was laughing at him, reminding him bitterly of the fact he was the one who'd asked Matt to fix both of their phones. It had been meant to _protect_ them, a _safe_guard.

Well, it sure as f-ck was working towards exactly the opposite end now.

As the hours slipped on toward morning, it became steadily more difficult to quell the twinge of panic which prodded against his chest and made it harder to breathe with every error message and failed attempt until finally, grudgingly, excruciatingly, with every fiber of his being screaming out in protest, Mello was forced to admit to himself that maybe he… really… couldn't… do it…

He wracked his brain for a different way, grasping frantically for other ideas, but the truth was he had _nothing_ else to go by. No hints, no clues. Only a phone call. From an unreachable phone.

When one of the systems crashed, he cursed out loud, a sort of muffled wail of miserable expletives and pleas to Christ and Mary and anyone else who might care to step in and just give him _some_ f-cking clue, goddammit!

Shit. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…_

This wasn't going to work.

The realization was cold and numbing and final.

Dead cobalt eyes stared dismally at the blue screen flashing electronic gibberish at him from the dead computer.

He couldn't break through Matt's systems.

How goddam _ironic._

The bitter, harsh laugh bubbling in his throat was released in a choked half-whimper.

He couldn't reach Matt--because Matt's own systems were in the way.

How f-cking brilliant.

Frustration and worry and something terribly close to hysteria rose up in his throat as black-polished nails dug into the sides of the dead laptop.

He couldn't do it.

An anguished cry escaped his lips in fury and frustration and utter self-loathing as Mello suddenly leaped to his feet, hurling the useless computer at the wall with a deafening crash.

He wasn't good enough.

Mello paced and threw things and attacked the furniture and the walls and raged about the room until it looked as if an earthquake and a hurricane had hit at once, leaving the walls cracked and the chairs splintered over the now chipped and peeling table.

Demolishing, destroying, decimating everything because he was just so f-cking powerless and helpless and useless and _simply not good enough._

Until the room was in shambles.

Until the couch was but a heap of torn cushions and scrap wood.

Until the floor was littered with broken glass and ceramics.

Until his knuckles bled and streaks of sweat ran down his neck and his hair was matted and tangled in wild disarray about his wide-eyed ashen features.

Until finally Mello stood in the midst of the broken living room, chest heaving, breathless gasps the only sound pervading the deafening silence as the rage ebbed away and left him, and only a desolate emptiness remained.

He couldn't do it.

_Matt…_

He couldn't…

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, though it defied every aspect of his usual thoughts and methods, an idea slipped into his mind and Mello found himself staring once more at his cell phone in a last-chance, desperate inkling of hope.

He couldn't do it. Not _alone._

But what if…

It hardly crossed his mind as he dialed that this was ridiculous, he shouldn't draw more people into his personal problems, that Mello always worked independently anyway, and for God's sake it was three-thirty in the morning and he hadn't even talked to her in months and she was very likely halfway across the world and besides, she had no real obligations to him and it wasn't right and…

Desperate half-thoughts skittered across his exhausted mind and were gone, every ring in his ear jarring his very being and he forgot about the shards of glass pushing into his legs as he suddenly found himself on his knees for some reason, tangled golden bangs falling over his eyes as he bowed his head in something painfully close to defeat and tried to calm his heavy breathing.

He had to sound normal, composed, casual. After all, he wasn't planning on telling her everything. He had to sound relaxed enough for her to believe this was just another odd job.

And then, finally, after the third ring, he heard the soft female voice on the other side bidding him a sleep-gruff but almost inquisitive hello.

The sound escaped his lips in a half-gasp he had not quite intended, but his voice did not shake and he was darkly proud of the fact he certainly _sounded_ almost calm.

Mello's fingers clenched tightly around the cell phone and he closed his eyes as if in prayer.

He couldn't do it alone.

"…Hal?"


	14. Unfathomable

**AN: EEP! Hey guys, I'm sooooo sorry this took so long! College started for Hitoshi-chan, and mine starts in a week, and we've both been so busy with all the start-of-school crap and such... Sorry! With this though, I suppose we've realized we really can't keep up a steady update pace... T.T Hopefully we'll be able to get out a chapter a month. We _will _try! Please be patient and sorry for the long waits!**

**About this chapter now... So, it kinda skips around a lot to different POVs, so hopefully it doesn't get too confusing... . No Mello for now, but the pieces are starting to fall into place for the main action so bear with us! Oh, and for Near fans, didn't I tell you he'd be coming in eventually? : )**

**Wow... Chapter 14 and most of it's been just exposition... This is going to be epic-length isn't it? ...And we're already planning a sequel! ...hopefully. Frikkin' school... grumble grumble**

**Well, as always, hope you enjoy the chapter, and please review! Constructive criticism, comments, (yes, even complaining about lack of updates) whatever you want to say, we want to know, so don't be shy! : D Again, an incredible amount of thanks to all our readers and reveiwers! Thanks for being patient and taking the time to leave us your thoughts! Reviews hold great nutritional value for writers, y'know. ; )**

**--Tora**

* * *

Dim green eyes saw the flicker of blue light disappear as the phone-- _his own phone--_ was shut and stored inside the pocket of the man he now knew to be named Paul. Matt watched in some kind of detached state of thought, his body too occupied with the overwhelming and all-encompassing pain that wracked his every cell to truly take in anything, as Paul's fingers loosened from their death grip around the cellular, and a blush of warm color spread over the man's white knuckles upon the release, returning the skin to its natural sun kissed complexion.

Matt did not look up to see Paul's expression, could not look up to see it. The only muscles in his body that seemed to be working at the moment were the ones that allowed him to breathe, and even those were struggling, trying desperately not to fail. With every breath of air, every expansion and contraction of his lungs, every muscle that pushed and pulled and just _wouldn't stop moving_, agony erupted in his chest. His head, his legs, arms, shoulders, everything was on fire, and every inhalation of air clawed at his throat on its way down, tearing little pieces of his insides off as it went, and lacing out to weave trails of agony spider webbing along his organs and sinking deep nails into everything in its path.

Every shuddering movement that came from the transferal of oxygen from air to lungs a more painful process than the last.

He would have cried out, but his voice was gone and his throat raw with the rippling memories of wave after wave of trauma, one scream after another ripped from his throat against his will.

He was positive that he would have been sick had he had anything in his stomach to get rid of, but as it was he hadn't eaten for… he wasn't sure anymore. Everything was an annoying blur, melding into each other, one event after another, until the only thing he was sure of was the pain he was feeling now.

He was sure of what had just occurred. Even if his entire body hadn't been screaming in protest, the absolute desolation that he felt told him that it hadn't been a nightmare.

That voice.

That horribly wrong voice told him it hadn't been a nightmare.

"_Matt…!"_

A stale gasp of air stuck in his throat, and for a few nerve-wracking moments, even his lungs refused to work under the strain they had been put through. Colorful spots danced before his vision until finally, with one great anguished heave, the burning oxygen filled his body once more, returning his sight back to him along with every ache and pain from before, now doubled.

Even the one that existed solely in his psyche. Especially that one.

He couldn't block it out, that ear shattering whisper. It kept coming to him, a steady cadence to fill the dark silence.

Matt knew. Knew what was going to happen now.

Best-case scenario, he would be used to hurt Mello, and then discarded when he was of no more use. It was what he wanted, what he desperately prayed for.

The other scenario, the one that was much more likely, and he fervently hoped against: Mello would try something stupid.

Even… if Matt was expendable, as he was slowly coming to except, this… this would be too big of a blow for Mello's pride to handle without the easily angered blonde retaliating in some way…

…and Matt would be helpless to do anything to prevent it.

To do anything to protect him…

He would be utterly and completely powerless.

_Fuck…_

He wasn't sure exactly what provoked what he did next, whether it was the drugs that were being routinely administered to his bloodstream, the lack of food and water, the sting of pain that shot through his entire body with every twitch, or maybe something else entirely, but it didn't matter why, really.

It did give him an idea of how desperate he was.

With nothing and no one else to turn to, he looked to the one that he had never really trusted, never really ever believed in.

It was the only thing he could do, the only option he had left.

So he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed.

Prayed to a God that he had never had faith in, because even if _he _had never believed, Mello had, and it was enough to convince him to try.

So he prayed, and he pleaded, and he begged, because it was _all_ he could do.

_God, I don't know you…__ and if you are there, I don't like you… but if you do exist… if you are listening… then you know. You KNOW that he did--once--he listened, and he served, and he LOVED you, and you OWE him… so please… just this once I'm asking you, not for me, but for him…_

_Please keep him safe._

  

Crystalline blue eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times to dispose of the haziness that had come with sleep.

Hal Ridner sat up slowly in her bed, covers falling to her waist as she gave an irritated glance at the clock and the fuzzy red numbers shifted into view.

It was just past 12:30, and for a brief moment she considered letting her cellular ring, and allow herself to get some much-needed rest. They--at is to say, Near, Gevanni, and herself--had been in Washington for just about a month, and were tying up some loose ends of their most recent case before they would be heading out to the next case in a few days. Despite the simplicity of their current case, she hadn't managed to get much rest in the last couple of nights, and for once she'd gone to bed at a decent hour. Only to be awakened _oh so rudely_ in the middle of the night.

A light scowl touched her delicate features as she ran a hand through her tangled white blonde locks and decided whether or not to answer the phone, a task that would mean getting up out of her very warm, very soft, very comfortable spot on the bed.

The fact of the matter was, there were only two people who she felt obligated to answer the phone for right now, Near and Gevanni, neither of whom were currently calling. She knew this only because she had programmed all of Near's lines to a specific ringer, and because Gevanni was sleeping peacefully in the room next door, a fact that she was certain of due to the loud reverberating snores that permeated the thin wall in between the two rooms.

In other words there was really no point to answering the phone, when all Hal really wanted to do was sleep, and judging by the number of people that even _had_ the number of her work cell, the call was probably just a wrong number.

But on the off chance that it wasn't…

She grumbled loudly as she pulled the covers from her legs, and her feet met the cold floor. Glaring at the offending device when she reached it, she grabbed the phone and jabbed a button before lifting it to an ear and giving a somewhat demanding 'Hello', though her voice was still rough with sleep, and her irritation was lost in the soft tones that came out when she spoke.

_This had better be good._

The line was silent for a moment, and she was about to hang up, when a quiet voice, unnaturally quiet, uttered her name.

Her hand froze in midair, ready to disconnect the call, and her eyes grew wide with shock.

After a few seconds of silence, she finally found her voice, and she mentally thanked her conscience for pulling her out of bed to answer, before responding to the caller's question.

"This is Hal. Mello… is that you?" She asked, despite the fact that she already knew the answer to that question. His was a voice she could never forget. A voice that for a while had haunted her, made her afraid of the simple task of answering the phone. She remembered the threats he had made on her life when he had been using her to get information from Near, a pawn in his grand scheme to end Kira and prove his superiority over the white haired boy once and for all.

Somewhere along the lines, she had realized he wasn't as bad as he pretended to be, well, as long as you didn't defy him. Their relationship had grown from one of a hunter and his prey to one of-- dare she even tentatively say-- friendship? Mutual respect, definitely, and allies of course. She could, with some cockiness, even say that she may have been one of the very small number of people in the world that Mello trusted. A notion that was proven when the ex-mafia boss had called her after the shooting just a little under two years ago, hysterical and half-demanding, half-begging her help.

And somehow, there was some extent of feeling privileged to assist Mello that was not present in her work with Near.

Which was why, the second she had recognized his voice on the phone, it alone had garnered all of her attention, and all plans of going back to sleep as soon as possible had been long forgotten.

She listened quietly as he spoke, taking in every detail, and grabbing a pen and paper off of a nearby desk to take notes. New York. Tomorrow. Apartment number… street name… she listened, hand scribbling numbers and times and places furiously, but her fingers came to a dead stop with a single word.

"_...please…"_

Her mind replayed the sentence over and over, trying to discern if she'd heard right, but she knew she had.

The thing was, Mello NEVER said please… and that he would say please to her, something must be wrong… very wrong.

She nodded in a sort of reassuring way then, upon realizing the futility of the action, gave a firm, "I'll be there," into the phone.

She heard a soft click as the line went dead, and she closed her cell, staring at it for a second as she tried to make sense of what had just occurred. After a minute, she shook her head in order to rid herself of useless thoughts, and stood, making her way to the closet, and pulling down a large black duffle bag.

She was glad that the last case had compensated them well. Buying tickets to New York at this time of year, and on such last minute notice was sure to be expensive.

She changed out of her nightclothes into a red sweater and black pair of jeans before beginning to pack her bags.

  

Void black eyes stared blankly at the soft red glow that shone rhythmically on the device before him. Along with the small blinking light, the machine emitted a low humming sound, an indication of the device's current occupied status.

A small pale boy sat in front of the machine, one knee pulled up to his chest, the other leg left to dangle freely, the boy's all white attire a strange juxtaposition against the smooth black vinyl of the computer chair in which he sat.

His eyes remained on the unmoving device before him, but all of the boy's attention was focused on the conversation going on inside of the black headset that he wore, a startling contrast in opposition to the boy's soft white curls.

The almost imperceptible movement of one eyebrow was the only sign that the white clad boy was actually a person listening to a conversation as opposed to the life size doll that he could so easily be mistaken for.

The blinking ceased, and an ashen hand rose slowly to press a switch on the inactive device before making its way up to the pallid white curls and taking one to twirl in its grasp.

Near replayed the conversation that he had just tapped over in his head, as though if he listened again, the words would make more sense.

Despite his status as the new "L," and the obvious risks that came along with such a title, Near did not make it a habit of listening in on private phone conversations. Not, at least, when said phone conversations, belonged to his most trusted and loyal subordinates.

However, he did make it a habit of monitoring from whom Gevanni and Hal received their private calls, because in a position such as his, even his most trusted and loyal subordinates could never earn his _full_ trust, and even the smallest chance of disloyalty, could not afford to be ignored or overlooked. It was a well-justified paranoia, and one that he had made clear to the two former SPK agents, as though informing them of his invasion of their privacy would somehow lessen the severity of such an act.

Monitoring whom Hal and Gevanni spoke with on the phone was only one of the ways he maintained his own security, and while he felt no guilt at this transgression, he was somewhat reassured to learn that both Hal and Gevanni understood its necessity.

So it was without remorse that the moment he noticed Hal receiving an unknown call from a phone in New York, at 12:36 AM, or 3:36 AM the caller's time, he did not hesitate to begin a tap.

He knew that a very limited amount of people were privy to Hal's cell number. He knew that the majority of people in New York were asleep at this time of night. He also knew that any wrong number or prank call would last a maximum of 12 seconds.

For that reason, at exactly 12.1 seconds into the call, he flipped a switch and began listening.

He was not at all surprised to hear the familiar voice on the other side of the phone, but as he listened silently to the exchange of words he found himself growing more uneasy and frustrated as the conversation progressed.

Despite his foresight into the identity of the caller, he had no idea as to the reason why Mello would call Hal at 3:30 AM his time, and quietly appeal for her assistance into an unknown matter.

Mello was not quiet. Silently harsh? Yes. But he was never, _never_ quiet. Nor did he ever ask for help. It went against everything that the blonde was.

Pale fingers released the pallid white lock that they had taken captive, and with it a few white strands of hair came loose, evidence of his growing agitation.

He would not be able to work like this.

It was on that realization that he picked up the closest phone, woke Gevanni from his noisy slumber, and requested that the man make accommodations for him and Hal to be on the soonest available flight to New York.

Hal would not be making this journey alone. Not when the perfect balance that Near had acquired in his life had been so thoroughly and completely upset.

 

Paul Mercado lay on his bed, amber eyes staring blankly into the darkness. Expensive down blankets were crumpled about him on the bed, haphazardly tangled around his legs as he lay on his back and watched the blackness where the ceiling should be. He didn't bother to look at the time. He knew it was late.

He just… _couldn't_ get to sleep.

He had been restless earlier, yes, bitter and full of loathing and insatiable revenge, reliving endless moments of years past, seeing _her_ and her lifeless mangled corpse over and over until even the satisfaction of what he was doing now had ebbed.

But then Tammy had called.

And now he couldn't sleep for different reasons entirely.

A small smile pulled at his lips in the darkness. She'd been watching, as instructed of course. And she'd recounted every detail. Every delicious detail until he could picture it himself.

It had been so _good_ trying to imagine the expression accompanying the pathetic tones of desperation he'd heard over the phone. He considered Tammy lucky.

She said he'd been whiter than a corpse, those disgustingly perfect-blue eyes staring and terrified.

God, how Paul wished he'd seen it himself.

He wished he'd seen the way his proud back slumped in defeat, the way his throat knotted and refused to work, the way his knees gave way and he crumpled and trembled miserably, the way his hands shook and those revolting painted fingernails drew his own blood as he clenched his fists.

Tammy had said he'd been holding something in his other hand, gripping it so hard his hand bled onto the carpet.

Paul reveled for a moment in magnificent images of beautiful ruby seeping past that ghastly porcelain skin and pouring forth until there was nothing left and the wretched excuse for life fled from that silly slim form and the those sky-blue eyes turned milky and clouded and unseeing.

Even Tammy's revelation that he'd fled afterward sent chills of joy to tingle in Paul's limbs.

So the wretched little creature couldn't take it and he'd run away? How perfectly _suitable_ and _sickening_. Let him run then, let him feel the terrible and utter uselessness of his cursed existence, let him wallow in his incompetence and guilt. He deserved so much more still. For taking Emilia away from him, even Hell was too kind for this bastard.

Paul let out a controlled deep breath, trying not to get too excited again. He needed to get to sleep soon, after all, and he'd never get around to it if he kept lingering on such wonderful deliberations…

But the flurry of thoughts refused to calm down, fluttering about in his head in wild, gleeful anticipation.

The real fun began tomorrow.

He'd called Tammy back home, and now she slept peacefully in a lavish room on the floor below. First, he'd gotten her our of harm's way before he initiated the real plan. He didn't need to watch anymore anyway, now that he knew the wretched thing was human enough to feel pain. His own imagination could provide satisfactory accompaniments to the hysteric terror lying just beneath the monster's words over the cellular.

He couldn't wait to hear it again; tomorrow was too far away. He drank it in, a wonderful drug that made the blood course faster and pound ecstatically in his veins, hot and euphoric.

Of course, no, it would never bring her back, it would never be enough. But after he'd accepted that fact, Paul had resolved…

He'd make it as close to enough as possible. He'd make that monster hurt so much he'd be begging for death. He'd do it slowly, toy with him, bide his time. Use his friend.

Paul's mind cast around as a dark grin played on his lips in the black room. He'd been trying to think of a good way to do it ever since he'd first laid eyes on that boy in the bar.

After today's first "session" (so to speak), after hearing those wonderful screams and the reaction they'd caused, he couldn't _stop_ thinking about it.

Bide his time.

Do it slowly.

Give him time to really stew in all his wretchedness while he listened to his friend's suffering.

It had also recently occurred to Paul that the phone had camera and video features. How very _excellent._

Ideas flooded his head and were discarded, none of them unpleasant enough. He had a plan already, but it could stand to be… made better.

There were so many ways to hurt someone.

The human body was such a fragile thing.

And so was the human mind.

He'd do it in the next four days, he'd decided. Give him that much time. The bait should be able to hold out that long.

Paul concluded he would call again sometime before noon tomorrow to explain the _rules_. He licked his lips subconsciously.

Oh, he couldn't wait.

Tomorrow, he'd show that bastard how serious this really was, the punishment his crimes deserved.

He'd give him four more days, give him some time to panic, and _play _a little each day but give him hints to his location, lure him out.

Tammy had returned absolutely certain now that the blonde bastard really did care enough to come searching for the hapless brunette.

And Paul was counting on it.

Give him a clue every day, and each would come with a price, costs written in blood and screams and that delightful note of terror in the voice which had haunted his nightmares for years.

And then on the last day, when he finally found them…

Then Paul would show him all the torment of seeing someone dear to him die miserably, slowly, excruciatingly. He'd do it in front of him, and he'd make him watch.

White grinning teeth gleamed dimly in the darkness.

Paul just couldn't wait to see the look of helplessness in those terrible blue eyes, couldn't wait to hear him squeal and whimper and beg and plead futilely.

The imaginary pitiful screams of the worthless piece of filth known as Mello filled Paul's ears with sweet satisfaction and finally coaxed him into blissful sleep, the most magnificent of lullabies.

Tomorrow, the _real _game began.

 

It was nearing two AM West Coast time when Hal finally pulled up to Sea-Tac Airport. It had taken her a little more than an hour to get all of her things together, and another twenty minutes to drive from their hotel to the airport. She'd also spent a few minutes debating whether or not she should leave Near a message, but in the end had opted simply to call him once she arrived in New York. Though somehow the notion of Near worrying about her seemed a little off, she _had_ left a short note in her room, just in case.

Technically, the case they had been working on had been finished, and she and Gevanni had been free to go for a few days now, but it was unusual behavior for her to take off before a case was completely taken care of, let alone to leave without giving some kind of notice. Though, she knew, Near was probably already aware of her absence. Understandably, the white haired prodigy did not take security measures lightly, and other than working quietly, she hadn't bothered to try to disguise her departure anyways. Not as though she _could have_ left without Near finding out.

Once the taxi came to a stop in front of the airport entrance, she paid quickly and hefted her duffle onto her shoulder before proceeding into the airport. Despite the late hour, the airport was still full of people waiting for flights, waiting for loved ones, and on their way home. She passed a few individuals sleeping in the waiting area and couldn't help but stifle a yawn, and then frown.

She would definitely have to sleep during the flight, much as she hated to do so. If she wanted to be in any kind of position to help once she reached Mello, she would need to get in at least a few hours of sleep before she arrived in New York.

There were only a few people in the line to buy tickets so it moved quickly, leaving her at the front of the line in no time at all. The attendant, a petite woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun, greeted her with a cheery smile before inquiring as to how she could be of service.

"I'd like to book a seat, any class, on the next available flight to New York please." Hal asked, returning the woman's smile with a tired one of her own.

The woman's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, too quick for most people to catch, though Hal was not most people, but she nodded anyway, and dutifully asked for Hal's ID.

Hal complied, brushing the woman's sudden change in expression off as a product of her own tired eyes. She handed her ID over, the one that declared her name to be Eliza Carter, a twenty eight year old resident of California, and waited for the transaction to begin.

Any and all of Hal's means of identification, that is to say, her real identification, had been burned the day she had made the decision to follow Near for the rest of her time as an agent, all save one, one that she herself did not have a copy of, but was stored somewhere that only Near himself knew of.

This time, the attendant's smile vanished and did not reappear, her eyebrows furrowing as she examined the ID a little too closely for Hal's comfort.

"Um, Miss Carter, would you mind coming with me for a moment?" The attendant asked in a tone that clearly suggested it was not a question.

Hal felt a knot of panic twist in her stomach, but she complied without question. It would not do to make a scene here, especially since she had no idea what had gone wrong.

The woman led her down a short corridor, every step allowing new doubts and worries to spring into Hal's mind, and for a minute she considered the possibility that whatever it was she had agreed to do for Mello had somehow landed her in this situation.

They made a turn down another short corridor, and all of her worries were washed away as a familiar mop of curly white hair came into view.

She let out a relieved sigh and ran a hand through her platinum blonde locks as she turned the last corner and the sight of a rather familiar pajama-clad boy eased the swiftly unraveling tension in the pit of her stomach.

Black eyes met her own for a second before glancing at the accompanying attendant, as well as a nearby security officer, and giving each a curt nod. Both the woman and officer left the scene, each a bit put-out, but agreeable nonetheless.

It was then that Hal noticed the tall form standing behind Near, and she gave a firm nod of greeting to Lester who nodded once in return, though both became attentive when Near began to speak.

"I don't like to invade the personal privacy of my agents, Hal, not without due cause, but when I saw that the phone call you received in the middle of the night was from a caller in New York, given your history, you should know that I had reason to believe I may have a vested interest in the caller. Just as much, if not more so than you do, however much he may not wish to admit it."

Hal took a moment to allow the words to sink in, and when they had, a bit of the tension from earlier rewound itself.

"You tapped the call."

It wasn't a question, not really, but Near confirmed with a nod anyway.

Had it been anyone else, she would have been upset, outraged even, but as it was, it was _Near_. He if anyone had good reason for such paranoia, and though the thought had escaped her at the time, she _had_ known that he watched to see whom his agents received and made their calls to and from.

Now though, now the question was where they would go from here.

Near seemed to read her thoughts, and he shook his head once.

"I won't stop you from continuing with your plans. I, however, will be joining you. Gevanni and Lester will stay here to wrap up the case." He met Hal's eyes once more, and Hal instantly understood.

Near was shaken.

Though it wasn't obvious or displayed for the world to see, the pajama-clad prodigy was off balance. It was there, in his eyes, for her to see, and she was aware that she only saw this because he allowed her to. He was not so far gone, and she wasn't sure if he ever _could be_, that he had lost the delicate control that he kept over his emotions at all times.

Near was not going to keep an eye on her interactions with Mello, far from it. Something in Mello's voice must have set the white haired boy off almost as badly as it had affected her.

She nodded once in understanding, and this seemed to satisfy him. He held two small slips of paper up for her to take, and she glanced at them as she did.

Tickets.

"We leave in 30 minutes; give Lester your bags, and everything else will be taken care of."

She did as she was told, assuring Lester that Near would be well looked after, and began to follow Near down, presumably to their plane. She quickened her pace enough to walk just a step ahead of the boy, enough so that she could still follow his lead, without actually allowing him to be first. It was of course just precautionary, but she wondered exactly how it was the two appeared to strangers, walking as they did.

A mother and son perhaps? No, probably more like a brother and sister. Certainly not the world-renowned detective L, and one of his bodyguards, what with the absence of her usual black suit, and Near's spotless white pajamas.

As they walked, Hal found herself wondering exactly what it was Mello needed her for. While she had registered something off with him, she wondered what Near had heard to make him decide to fly all of the way out to New York. For what was certainly not the first time, she found herself curious about the past the two shared. All she had ever gotten out of either of them was that they had been raised together, and that Mello had always had a strong hatred for Near, simply for being ranked number one. Though as Hal watched Near's tense shoulders, a sign of his dislike of crowds, she was reminded that rivalry or not, it seemed there was a bond between the two that ran very deep.

Respect, loathing, and challenge were emotions that sometimes ran far deeper than love or friendship.

Her inner musings were halted as they boarded the plane, and she settled herself into her seat for the ride. She would not sleep, not now with Near to look after. She wouldn't have been able to even if hadn't been there, and she made a note to get a very strong coffee the minute they arrived in New York.  
It was going to be a long day.

 

Ashen hands pulled habitually at the soft white tuft of bangs that hung at the edge of the blank-faced boy's vision. Twin orbs of glassy onyx stared unfocused at the sea of pale blue and gray that signified dawn's waking, though the sun remained cloaked behind the clouds.

Near closed his eyes solemnly for a second before opening them back up again slowly only moments later, his own manner of blinking.

His effort to keep his thoughts analytical and detached from the newly-arisen situation were quickly failing, but the increasing frequency of the periodic curling and uncurling of his hair around his finger was the only sign of his slowly crumbling nerves.

Mello was an impulsive person. He knew it to be a fact, and he mentally reminded himself of the fact over and over again, attempts at assuaging the growing unease that had taken hold of him the minute the blonde's unsteady voice had come onto the telephone line back in Washington.

The emotional blonde was also prone to overreaction, and exaggeration, both factors Near used to convince himself that whatever had occurred, or was occurring, or was going to occur, was likely not as significant as Near found himself being led to believe.

Though, Near also knew that while Mello was impulsive, overreacted to small matters, and tended to exaggerate, it took a matter of significant magnitude to provoke the blonde into asking for help.

Especially to ask of someone like Hal, a woman who, while extremely talented and among the few people that Mello respected, happened to work for Near, a fact that Mello knew well, and would have taken into consideration before making any contact with her.

Unless of course he was desperate.

And here he was again, back to where he started.

An equation that left Near with a growing knot of tension in his stomach, and a headache from a puzzle that even he could not solve.

The riddle was maddening, and for a moment it overwhelmed him, one chalky white fist curling in on itself, and straining the muscles in his hand.

But it was only for a moment, and he almost instantly ended the action, regaining his senses, and coming back to himself.

Another drawn-out blink, and his eyes were focused dully on the back of the seat before him now.

A voice on the intercom came on informing all passengers that they would be arriving in New York in just under two hours.

He pulled one of the quiz books that he had brought with him from his carry-on bag, and began to work on the most difficult crossword he could find. Far from hard, but a small challenge none the less, and a fitting distraction from the puzzle that he could not solve.

* * *

**So... I hear Reviews are a great stress-relieving remedy for poor college students who happen to write fanfiction in their very little spare time... They may also be a remedy for Slow-update-pace Syndrome... It's worth a try. .**


	15. Unbearable

**AN:**** OMG! An update! And a long one too. Yeah, it kinda took forever… But like I said, we have lives. Sorry. **

**Ok, so here's the deal: College is a time-consuming bastard but it must be done. Papers to write, exams to take, jobs to go to, you know the drill. Thus, you must understand that even though all this is a pain in the ass and we'd both **_**much**_** rather be delving into the intricacies of Matt and Mello's relationship and the wonderful world of angst, we kind of don't have the liberty to do that at the moment. We're incredibly flattered by everyone's interest in our work, but please understand that. **

**That being said, I'm afraid that after this chapter, there will be no new chapters posted until sometime after New Year. We will continue writing, but I don't think I'll get the chance to post again for a while. Yeah, schoolwork is a bitch. Blame the concept of educating the population. In any case, er, sorry this kind of ends in another cliffhanger… Oh, and also, check the end of the chapter for a personal author's note to all our reviewers! We love you all!!**

**And in other news, after some debate on how much both of us strongly dislike the infamous "F word," Hitoshi-chan and I have actually made the momentous decision to spell the whole thing out since really, there's hardly a difference even if we put a dash. Matt and Mello are such potty mouths. Especially Mello. **

**Wow, this was a long AN. Anyway, going on… Enjoy! Reread it if you must. I doubt there'll be an update before mid-January. Best wishes! - - Tora - -**

* * *

The room was silent, save the soft rustle of bedcovers and quiet labored breathing. Occasionally, a muffled gasp would tear the air and fade into the dimness where the faint morning light beyond the drawn blinds couldn't quite reach through to the fitfully sleeping boy on the twisted, sweat-drenched sheets as he tossed and turned in his restless slumber, eyes squeezed tightly shut and black-polished fingernails biting into his pillow.

Nightmares raged in his head and plagued his conscience but his body did not wake, exhausted into forced sleep despite the merciless barrage.

_And he watched the car swerve, tires sparking, screeching, slamming into the railing, toppling over, down into the freezing darkness, away from view, vanishing, gone…_

Mello twisted violently, whispering soft incoherent moans of protest into the by-now torn pillow.

"_Get the fuck out!" he_ _screamed, grabbing the startled owner of the white Toyota while he was stopped at a red light and hauling him out of his own vehicle before the poor middle-aged businessman even realized what had hit him. _

_He dived into the driver's seat, flooring the gas without giving a damn the light was still red, the icy wind screaming through the broken window and whipping blonde strands into his face as he disregarded all road signs in favor of wildly scanning the riverbank._

_God, oh God, he had to find him, and soon…_

From somewhere far away, a distant noise was trying to reach him, but the ghastly visions refused to let the blonde go.

_He swerved off the road, heart racing and pounding in his throat._

_This was taking too long…_

_For God's sake, he'd been __**shot**__ and then he'd __**crashed**__ over the fucking __**bridge **__and how could he even still be alive but he __**HAD**__ to be, goddammit!_

_And he was dashing down the riverbank, car forsaken by the roadside, searching wildly, frantically, pounding blood roaring in his ears, and he __**just couldn't find him!**_

Mello turned over, very vaguely aware of a distracting ringing pervading his troubled slumber but not strongly enough to dispel the terribly realistic vision.

_Oh,_ _God, finally, __**finally**__, there he was!_

_But the brief relief was utterly and completely drowned out in a miserable panicked cry at the sight._

_The stench of blood and burnt rubber, crimson horror everywhere, spreading in dark pools, the pressing, crushing silence and absence of any movement save that of his own heaving chest as he froze in his tracks._

_Oh, God…_

_And his shirt had once had white stripes but now they were deep scarlet; and his face had once been handsome and gently smirking and warm but now it was twisted and ghastly and ashen; and his body had once been strong and full of life and energy and vitality but now it was limp and broken and torn and cold; and his eyes had once been bright emerald and childishly mischievous and kind but now they were wide and staring and gray and lifeless; and his voice had once been deep and soft and velvet but now…_

_The corpse's lips parted, cracked and seeping black blood, and rasped out whispers of condemnation and loathing, accusation._

_And it was all true and he had lost everything and he had failed and there was nothing he could do now but let the screaming cadaver drag him into eternal fiery Hell since that was what he deserved and God damn his soul forever because he was __**dead!!**_

Mello sat up with a jolt and a sharp gasp, cold sweat trickling down his scarred cheek and the ringing in his ears loud and jarring.

Wide blue eyes flashed over to the bedside table and when he slowly realized the sound wasn't imaginary, he reached out finally with faintly trembling fingers to snatch up the vexing cell phone.

His breath came heavy and harsh, the gory, lifeless corpse of a too-familiar young man floating invisibly before his vision, and Mello was suddenly glad he hadn't bothered to eat anything before dragging himself to collapse on the bed sometime around 4am this morning because his stomach was clenching violently at the agonizingly vivid images.

And then the phone rang again, high-pitched and insistent and he jumped, startled, and quickly flipped it open, calming his breath by sheer force of will to demand a little to loudly, "Hal?! You here yet?"

Hal didn't even flinch at the tone of voice Mello used, having long ago realized that working with Mello would always mean occasionally sacrificing the comfort of her ear drums, though at the moment his voice was raised but the impatient blonde was not yelling.

She and Near had arrived in New York about fifteen minutes ago, and after acquiring their bags, she had stopped suddenly, as though just realizing something, and had extracted her phone from her pocket to make a call.

She was not looking forward to relaying her news to Mello, but it had occurred to her that if she did not give him some kind of warning about Near tagging along, he would probably never trust her again.

Near stood at her side, black eyes staring absent mindedly at the cellular in her hands, before turning his gaze to a nearby window. She was sure Near had already realized the reasons behind her call and pushed down the small feeling of guilt that overcame her when she realized that in essence, what she was doing was warning Mello of Near's presence.

An act that spoke volumes of the fragile and bitter relationship between the two geniuses, but was necessary regardless.

She pulled her wandering mind back from her thoughts, keeping one eye trained on Near to assure his safety as she answered Mello's question.

"Yes, I'm here, I just landed a few minutes ago, and should be seeing you in about an hour or so… but Mello, you need to know, Near is with me."

She paused, resisting the urge to bite her lip in apprehension as she waited for the explosion to come.

Mello froze, back rigid, and stared at the wall in mild shock.

FUCK.

Cold anger and burning loathing boiled up within his chest and the gritting of his teeth was audible even on the phone line.

_Near? NO! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK._

"Hal…" The name was whispered threateningly through clenched teeth as something close to panic, of a different sort than earlier, made his heart jump into his throat.

NEAR was coming? Near was going to come and see him like… like _this?!_ And he was going to see his failure and he would ask _questions_ and stare at him with those fucking _empty_ eyes of his as if he were goddam _evaluating _everything and he wasn't a human being at all…

Mello LOATHED that vacant stare which tried to peel him away layer by layer and leave his rawest self bare for speculation. He absolutely abhorred the way the younger boy regarded him as if he were just a specimen, in the same way he regarded the whole world, as if everyone was something he was trying to dissect with those fucking depthless voids in his eye sockets. It made Mello want to cringe away and punch him in the face at the same time.

And now he could just imagine those empty orbs boring into his head and sneering at him for being so pathetic and wretched and… human.

No fucking way.

He was NOT going to just let Near come shuffling in with his unsightly goddam pajamas and watch him with those blank eyes and twirl that piece of fucking hair around his damn white little finger as he fucking _assessed_ and _speculated_ and _pondered._

Like hell.

Mello knew himself well enough to be certain he could not stand the vile little creature's presence at a time like this. And he knew Near well enough to know that he would push his company on him anyway, testing, probing, and damn well knowing exactly how much Mello hated him and probably taking some sick pleasure in putting him off balance like this.

The silence on the other line was lasting a little too long and Mello clenched a fistful of bed sheets in his free hand.

So Hal had nothing else to say.

She'd fucking snitched and told Near--and after she knew Mello _trusted_ her!-- and she had nothing else to say for herself.

Mello found himself feeling backed into a corner and the more he thought about it, the more that wild feeling of an irrepressible need to escape wriggled in his stomach. It wasn't that he was _afraid_ of Near… No. But…those eyes…boring into his own…tearing out every bit of him for further examination… He knew he could not bear to look into those horrible voids right now, not when he was already doing the utmost in his power to keep his ever-rampant emotions in check, not when he needed to be rational and put Matt first in his mind, not _now._

"Hal," he repeated after a few more seconds, voice harsh, rough and almost hurt. "You gossiping _bitch_, why the _fuck_ did you go and tell him?!"

He couldn't help it, and his body moved of its own accord, leaping off the bed to slam a foot into the wall with a resounding crack, free hand grasping out to find the digital clock off the nightstand and hurl it against the opposite end of the room because he just couldn't contain himself anymore with those images flashing before his eyes…

_Blood_… _Death… Matt… Those empty, empty eyes… Searching, probing… finding only failure and loathsome fear…_

"I can't believe you…" his voice was getting shrill, livid and almost panicked and he couldn't get the vision of that bloody corpse out of his mind. "If you fucking bring him to my fucking house, I swear to God I will _murder _him, you hear me?!" he screamed into the receiver, hurling a glass at the wall as well and watching it shatter while tiny rivers of water trailed down the white paint.

And then, just as he was reaching down for something else to throw in an attempt to soothe his tattered nerves, Mello's fingers found a thin cardboard rectangle, and he froze, staring at the object in his hand.

The cigarette box crumpled in his grip as the distressed blonde staggered back to sit on the edge of the bed staring at it with wide eyes and he finally managed to whisper, "Don't let him near me, Hal, y'hear? I'll kill you _both_, you traitor…"

Near watched from his spot next to Hal as her fingers clenched in a death grip around the cellular phone, her entire hand whitening with the force of the grasp.

He'd of course heard every word Mello had said. It hadn't been very hard, seeing as the furious blonde seemed to have been yelling at the top of his lungs. Had Near been anyone else, he would have frowned, but instead the white haired boy settled for staring long and hard at the wireless phone. Though it was certainly not an abnormal occurrence for Mello to yell, and even more so for him to be upset by Near's presence, even given the persons involved and the situation, Mello seemed more upset than usual.

Also he'd been out of line talking to Hal as he had.

Near allowed a small sigh of exasperation to escape him, and he stepped into Hal's view with a hand held out in front of him.

"If you would please allow me to handle this, Hal, I've had plenty of experience."

The blonde agent looked up at him in surprise before wordlessly handing him the phone in acquiescence.

Near took the phone from her outstretched arm, noting the slight flush that had come over her cheeks. It surprised him slightly if only because he knew it was very infrequent that the agent became upset with someone in such a manner. Even when Mello had placed a gun at the back of her skull, Hal had barely blinked an eye.

How annoying. They had been in New York for less than an hour, and already Mello was making things difficult.

Near pulled the phone to his ear, and without preamble began speaking.

"It's been a while, Mello. Before you begin to spew needless expletives that I will of course ignore, I would like to inform you that I don't appreciate your crude behavior with my agent, particularly when you were working off of a false assumption."

He paused long enough for a breath, but continued again before he could be interrupted, as he most certainly would be.

"For Hal's sake, I'd like you to know that she did not give me any information regarding her trip to New York. I tapped the phone call she received from you, and intercepted her at the airport in Washington. I know an apology is considerably too much to ask from you, but I thought you might like to know that she did not deserve to be spoken to in the manner in which you did, especially considering the fact that she woke in the middle of the night to catch a flight to New York for _your_ sake. Perhaps these factors can aid you in seeing the extent to which you just made a fool out of yourself."

He paused again, and the line was thick with a choking silence.

After a minute more without a response, Near released another small sigh.

"Then I can assume we'll be seeing you in a bit if you have nothing else to say…?" The question hung in the air, and this time he waited for an answer, his building agitation forcing a finger up to curl in a familiar layer of soft white curls.

Mello felt his knuckles creak in protest to his death grip on the cellular and he barely managed to speak long enough to spit as harshly as possible, "Right. Tell _Hal _I'll be seeing her soon… And why don't _you _just get your little albino ass back on the next flight to Hell, you eavesdropping motherfucker?"

_How dare he, how DARE he tap my fucking call like that!! _

The blonde was absolutely livid.

And with his own agent too! With a woman! The brat had absolutely NO sense of decency! No morals at all! Godless little shit…

Whatever the fuck they put in cigarettes was getting all over his left hand and leaving a disgusting gritty feeling under his fingernails but Mello just couldn't let go.

He almost wanted to apologize to Hal and beg her to come faster. But not quite. He'd never do such a pathetic thing, and certainly not with Near there.

So he settled instead for plowing on with his verbal abuse of the white-haired boy with hardly a pause for breath.

"And if you even _try_ to come near me, I swear I will tear your fucking intestines out with my bare hands and use them to hang you from the nearest telephone pole, you hear me?! Tell Hal I'll be expecting her in about an hour… You spying little shit."

And then, having temporarily run out of violent threats with the feel of powdered nicotine in his fist and no smoking brunette moron around to yell at him for it, Mello snapped the phone shut with a resounding click, letting his head sag down into his hands, elbows digging into his knees and breath choking in rage and remorse and worry.

Near blinked at the phone in his hand as Mello's snarls were punctuated with a vicious click before the line went dead. He stared at the receiver, trying to discern what had just occurred.

He was used to Mello's cursing and constant condemnation; it didn't bother him in the least. He could count the number of times the two had had a two-sided civil conversation on one hand, but even for Mello…the intense fury that filled his voice was laced with something else…an explosion that, for once, had not been entirely Near's fault.

Near had never known anything that irritated Mello as completely as himself.

Never.

But the extent of Mello's anger had spoken volumes of 'something else' and as the thought implanted itself in Near's mind, an icy fingered grip took hold of his insides. The intensity of Mello's words had contained all of the emotion and ammo that was usually involved when striking at a scapegoat.

Something was wrong, and he _still_ had no idea what it was other than the fact that for once he was not the cause.

It was driving him insane.

And that thing…that disgusting, unfamiliar, _thing_ in his voice… He was sure now. It was insecurity.

It wasn't just Mello's normal inferiority complex acting up though, this was different. It was insecurity laced with desperation, a dangerous combination, and one that would explain the added brutality of the blonde's behavior.

The notion ate away at his brain. Perhaps he was simply stunned that Mello had found something that upset him more than himself. Even Kira hadn't quite managed that.

He didn't like it.

Didn't like what it did to Mello, how it made him… different than before.

The Mello on the phone had been wrong. Weak with anger.

Whereas before Mello's anger had only provided fuel to the flames of his brilliant mind, this anger…it clouded and dulled that same brilliance.

Remembering suddenly that Matt was in New York accompanying the blonde, Near felt somewhat reassured. Surely Matt would know what was going on, though it did worry Near a bit to think that Mello had been acting this way for some time despite the fact that the gamer was spared most of the blonde's violent tendencies.

Near released the imprisoned hair that he'd been holding, remembering how he had lost a few strands the last time he had been holding onto it while analyzing the situation.

When they arrived, he would just have to be sure to see Matt first, and hopefully the situation would become clearer after he had a chance to discuss things with the auburn haired boy.

Glassy black eyes tilted up at Hal, sending her an unspoken message, and the two began walking towards the curb of the airport.

Near stood to the side as the flaxen haired agent waved down a taxi, mind trailing back to his previous thoughts, and a small frown actually crawling its way up his features this time.

Immune as he was to Mello's threats and name calling, he was not looking forward to their imminent encounter.

 

The hot water caressing his back in a steady stream from the shower head did nothing to soothe Mello's nerves or the painfully stiff muscles in his shoulders where the knots of tension refused to ease no matter how hard he tried to tell himself he had to relax and that everything was under control and that overstressing would only lead to mistakes…

God, _mistakes._

His whole fucking life was a mistake, come to think of it.

Mello leaned against the steam-slick tile wall in the bath, letting the water attempt somewhat in vain to drown out the screaming which had resumed in his ears after he'd hung up on Near.

And now it was not he but Matt who was paying for those mistakes.

It was his own fault, all his. Matt had nothing to do with it.

Matt had nothing to do with his uncontrollable violent tendencies, anger issues, easily disturbed emotional state, shitty childhood, abusive father, dead mother, nothing.

Matt had nothing to do with his fucking moronic ideas of catching Kira by infiltrating and using the mafia, brutally fighting his way to the top, making countless dangerous enemies and not caring, lying and plotting and killing and irreparably sinning. Nothing.

Matt had _nothing_ to do with any of it.

And yet it was not he but Matt who was now in the hands of some psychotic lunatic out for revenge for wrongs done against him which Matt had absolutely _nothing_ to do with.

It was not he but Matt who cried out in agony and repented for sins he did not commit.

God, why, WHY?

Mello lifted his face into the streaming water, letting it pour over his tainted skin and steal away his breath as he offered himself up, bare and defenseless and penitent.

God, take me now and bring Matt back to safety.

God, why do You punish him for my crimes?

God, let me take his place no matter where he is.

God, I just _can't stand it!_ Let me, please…

God, keep him safe.

God, give me strength.

God, help me find him and bring him back to me.

God, _he doesn't deserve this. _

God, You have the wrong man.

_Take me._

Mello turned the shower off slowly, bangs dripping into his eyes and streaming down his cheeks like the tears he couldn't shed.

God was silent.

Matt screamed in his head.

He glanced briefly sideways into the foggy mirror as he mechanically wrapped a towel around his hips.

The soaking blonde boy staring back at him had empty gray-blue eyes and a dark scar to brand his sins upon his face.

And then the image cracked and a delicate spider web of shattered glass of twisted and blended pale flesh and dripping golden hair blinked dully back at him.

He hit it again, this time watching shards crumble away and clatter to the counter, small crimson stains blossoming upon the pieces and the fake marble and swirling into a vague pinkish blur of condensation on glass.

It took a second to force his eyes to tear away from the loathsome shattered wretch he saw there, but by the time it took Mello to realize just how much he loathed himself right now, he found himself already dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeve and busying himself about the room while his torn knuckles decorated the soft gray carpet in tiny scarlet blossoms.

Hal was coming.

Fuck Near.

Hal was coming and she could help him. She had helped him before and she had helped Matt before and she could do it again.

The notion still grated but he had reached a point of certain odious acceptance toward his own weaknesses.

Now he had to focus on setting things up so they could start working right away.

Other than the one corner of the room by the television where the coffee table stood with electronic equipment piled on top and around it, the rest of the apartment was in utter shambles.

Mechanically, blankly staring as he tried to distract himself from the overwhelming shadows of his own failures, Mello moved broken furniture, kicked shattered glass and ceramics out of the living room, did his best to make the ruined living space a bit more presentable. The couch, however, was probably beyond repair.

After a second's deliberation, he moved it into the kitchen to sit forlornly by the splintered pile of what had once been chairs and instead dragged out pillows and blankets to pile around the newly-created workspace near the miraculously whole TV.

He scanned his handiwork apprehensively, knowing Hal would probably ask questions. Well, he wasn't precisely obliged to give answers. Besides, he knew he made his personality clear enough to everyone for her to know it wasn't that unusual for him to decimate everything in reach when angry.

Yes, he'd tell her he'd done it when Near said he'd tapped the call.

Very believable… And, well, some of it was true.

Kicking some more bits of what had probably been dinner plates under the wrecked couch, Mello shuffled back out toward the computers, fingers sliding over the keyboards and starting the programs he knew they'd need. The second Hal walked through that door, they were getting to work, Near be damned, and questions could wait.

Near…

FUCK.

Mello didn't even want to think about it anymore, not after he'd just been trying to fucking _clean_. The bastard…

But just as he was trying valiantly but probably vainly to quell a newfound urge to destroy, the blonde was spared the effort by a sudden striking melody which sent a shiver of horror mingled with desperate, stupid hope up his spine even as he leaped forward to snatch his vibrating phone off the counter, cutting the Mario Theme off with a sharp snap.

Words died in his throat as his mind battled the automatic impulse to cry out the name he so wanted to. But the somehow more logical part of him restrained the urge and he knew he mustn't say anything until he knew more because one false move could mean Game Over and the stakes were higher than he'd ever care to risk.

 

Blank green eyes stared at the dark wall in front of them.

Unseeing, incomprehensive, unfocused.

Minutes passed as hours, and hours as minutes, and at some point, Matt realized he wasn't sure anymore if he'd been in this place for days or weeks.

He stared at the wall some more, willing it to change, to move, to manipulate itself into a new kind of scenery. To morph into an endless grassy field, or a hurricane-filled night sky, or a raging desert storm, or _anything_ but what it was. It didn't. It remained the same, the same monotonous dark gray that it had been for days now. The same unchanging slab of gloomy metal, useless, pitiful, unable to make any fucking difference in the events that were taking place.

Even though it was there the entire time, witness to everything that was going on, it could do and say nothing.

_What a fucking waste of space_, he thought to himself.

_How incredibly and utterly pathetic_.

It was enough to make him sick, or would have been had he anything in his stomach to be sick with.

He knew though that if he were to become sick, he would risk losing whatever diminutive amount of water still remained in his body, and that he would probably die shortly after.

Which, he had to remind himself, was a bad thing.

He did not want to die, mostly at least, not without making sure his other half made it through this first. He had to make sure Mello didn't get brought into it.

Then he would die. Then it would be okay to let himself fall asleep and never wake up.

It wasn't as though he was suicidal, not in the least, but at the moment, living and breathing was taking so much _work, _and he was just _so damn tired._

The door creaked open suddenly and he immediately shut his eyes, the meager amount of light enough to cause them to sting and water. Something inside of him recalled the connotations of what that door opening meant, and it recoiled in loathing and fear where his physical body, pride put aside, simply was no longer capable of such an extreme movement.

The sound of the approaching footsteps weighed heavily in his eardrums, and he was suddenly reminded of old movies, and some medieval videogames, where someone always beat on a drum before an execution.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

He forced his nerves away, knowing that he could not afford to waste any precious water by sweating it off in a nervous panic.

The footsteps stopped, and the sound of the door closing reached him.

A chill that had nothing to do with the climate washed over him, and he winced as the ripple caused his aching body to protest the small movement, but other than that he remained motionless.

Without warning or reason, the auburn haired boy felt tears prick the edge of his eyelids, and disgusted with his weakness, refused to let them fall, glad that the bangs hanging over his eyes disguised the few rapid blinks that destroyed the evidence of his failings.

No, Matt was not suicidal, not at all.

But somehow, he really, _really,_ did not want to exist right now.

Dark golden eyes stared down at him, swimming with barely suppressed glee, and Paul offered the despairing boy trussed to the chair a cheerful "Good morning!" which echoed softly and rather dismally against the empty walls.

"I trust you slept well, Matt?" the tall man grinned, leaning down and twisting his head a little to try to peer into the other's face simply because he was curious to see what the face of utter and absolute defeat looked like.

Two other men stood some ways behind him, one of them different, the other recognizable as the ever stony-faced Ashworth, but did not speak or move. Bodyguards or simply trophies to flaunt his power, they seemed to lack a will of their own when Paul was not giving them orders.

The well-worn wolfish grin played eagerly upon his lips as the dark-haired male straightened, pulling a familiar dark red object from his jacket pocket.

"Let's see then…" He tapped his bottom lip with the top of the cell phone in what may or may not have been actual deliberation rather than the usual pretense.

He mumbled to himself, only half-audibly, the occasional word drifting down to the bound boy with growing horror. Something about laying out the rules… setting the stakes… and then something more about the camera and video features on Matt's self-devised cellular.

Paul seemed to have caught the almost imperceptible movement of his prey and laughed. "I'm sorry, did I frighten you? You know, it's really not my fault, Matt." The laugh was quickly cut short and twisted into a grimace.

The dark man suddenly lashed out, strong tanned fingers twining and twisting in thick auburn locks as he grabbed the top of Matt's hair roughly and jerked his head up to glare into his face with eyes of icy fire.

"No, not my fault," he repeated in little more than a whisper laced with loathing. "You have only _him_ to blame, that hideous depraved monster." Paul scoffed, a harsh and cutting sound, and eyed Matt's hatefully protesting emerald eyes with a sort of disgusted half-pity.

"And yet you still want to hear his voice, isn't that it?" His lip curled in a snarl and he kept a tight hold on the mass of red-brown substance in his hand as he snapped open the phone.

"You're right," he whispered, nodding toward his men to step closer. "I want to hear it too… I want to hear him struggle vainly and curse his own worthless existence… I want to hear the wretched suppressed whimpers when he hears the pain he's causing you… I want to hear him cry out in protest as he watches the light leave your eyes… Are you ready to die, Matt?"

Paul's grin was warped and crooked, shining dully in the dim light before he jerked his hand roughly free of the auburn strands.

He pressed _send_ once, slowly. Then a second time.

"Let's play a game…"

Matt's eyes widened slowly as a sickening feeling surged through the pit of his stomach, up into his chest, tightening its icy grip in a strangle hold around his overworked quickly beating heart. He knew what Paul's intentions were, knew, as he watched the familiar dance of fingers upon the phone's glowing blue keypad _exactly _what Paul was going to do with that extra bit of technology that Matt had modified his phone to include, just for kicks.

At that moment he was positive he had never hated anyone more in his entire existence. Kira himself hadn't evoked this kind of boiling hot loathing, and even Kiyomi Takada, the woman whom both he and Mello had almost met their end by, hadn't brought forth such an absolute venomous hate.

He wanted to get up and rip this bastard's fucking innards out through his throat, wanted to beat his fists into that soft tan flesh until it was a bloody bruise-covered mess no longer recognizable as a human, wanted to do _something_ other then sit here _useless_, in this _fucking chair_, while this _fucking psycho_ screwed with the mind of the person who was most important in the world to him, and used _him _to do it.

Matt wanted a lot of things right now, but he was pretty sure wanting wasn't going to be enough.

The screen of the phone brightened, springing into use as the call connected, and for the first time in days Matt was unable to hold his tongue as the entirety of what was to happen in a few moments began to sink into his brain.

"FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD!" His voice was hoarse from the lack of use, and nowhere near the volume that he desired, but it was loud enough for all that were present to hear.

His arms were numb and his wrists bleeding and sprained, the roaring agony in his shoulder had turned into a dull ache that he had pushed to the back of his mind, though he knew the pain would return full force shortly. His chest was on fire, ribs broken and bruised, and he was going to let Mello down.

He was going to die like a dog, no dignity or honor, and suddenly the prospect of dying in a car chase while aiding his best friend in taking out the world's most accomplished serial killer seemed like a luxury.

If he had died then, it would have been alright. He would have died useful, not a pathetic lump of existence, too weak to protect the person to whom he claimed absolute loyalty.

It was too much for his fragile state of mind, and with a muttered curse he felt his eyes swell and spill over _again_, and he hung his head in a mixture of defeat, shame and exhaustion.

He silently begged whatever deity was listening to grant him some tattered scrap of luck, and to keep the blonde from answering the phone. It was the only way for Mello to be spared.

His body shook with silent ragged sobs, and he closed his eyes.

_God, just let me die before he picks up_.

The seconds dragged on in eons, deafening silence, and Paul smiled twistedly and pressed the phone closer to his face like an excited child.

And then, finally, it could only be assumed someone had picked up because at length he spoke, the small crooked grin fully evoked in his voice.

"Mello, I presume?"

The bastard half fucking _giggled_. He sounded so fucking _happy_ it was downright _sickening._

There was a soft wordless growl on the other end of the most grudging affirmation. Yes, this was Mello. And just for the record, Mello fucking hated his guts.

Paul laughed.

"Ever the eloquent one, aren't we, Mello?" he taunted, pressing the 'speaker phone' button and peering down at the phone to press some more keys, fiddling with the settings.

Another hate-filled growl barely broke the silence. This time it might have been a sentence.

"_What the fuck do you want?"_

Ah, there.

Paul pressed some more buttons, leveling the phone to his eyes and peering through the screen. A well defined image of the broken youth on the chair had appeared there as if through a small window. The boy didn't look up. Paul wondered if he was trying to commit suicide by sheer force of will.

He decided to act more quickly, just in case.

The voice on the speaker was suddenly louder, sharp and incensed. "Answer me, you motherfucking son of a bitch!"

Paul granted him a soft _Tsk._

"Temper, temper," he chided, highly amused. His fingers fiddled with some more buttons and he marveled at the advanced technology in his hand, unaware its creator was currently slumped before him.

The phone line erupted in a string of colorful and very vicious curses, which only elicited a throaty laugh of absolute delight.

"Patience, Mello, almost finished," he crooned. "Now, you'll have to accept the video link. Hope your phone can handle it…"

The volley of profanities ceased immediately and there was all-pervasive silence once more.

Paul noticed with some amusement that the auburn-haired boy twitched and began to squirm again. So he understood. Apparently, he wasn't so far gone yet.

Several eternal seconds crept by before a very flat, detached voice finally floated over from the speaker, uttering only one word.

"…video?"

"Oh, yes," Paul beamed down at the spectacular device in his hand. "Just accept the link and you'll get to see your precious Matt. That's what you want, isn't it? Or you wouldn't have answered," he pointed out slyly.

Mello said nothing.

Presently, Paul's screen indicated the connection was ready and his dark face split into a full grin. "Ashworth," he called pleasantly, and his man stepped forward. "Hold this right there," he directed in low tones, handing him the cell phone and positioning it. "I have other things to do…"

A profane hiss rose from the other side, and Paul knew the video had gotten through. Live video feed. Fucking _brilliant_. He couldn't have dreamed of a better device than this magnificent phone the captured boy had somehow possessed. It was a brilliant godsend and Paul was giddy just thinking about it.

He let the demonic blonde watch the still form of the boy tied to the chair for a moment while he strode over to the wall, where a length of thick cord hung from a hook. He pulled it down and ran it through his hands, unwinding it. Not too long. Perfect.

Ambling back within the perimeters of the camera's reach, he grinned through the device at the opposite party.

"Hello, Mello. Do you remember my face now?"

The boy again said nothing.

Paul glanced down to the corner of the screen for the signal and made sure it was still good.

"Oh, well, I didn't think you would…" He shrugged, tugging the cord taut in his hands with a soft snap.

He only wished the video worked both ways. Ah, well. One never could have everything.

"How's the view?" he prompted with another of his well-worn toothy wolfish grins.

The voice which came from the speaker was low and flat, barely contained emotion shoved roughly and forcefully under a thin mask of cold hate. "You are the lowest of all goddamned bitch-born motherfucking bastards, you dirty shitfaced lump of debauched filth…"

Paul laughed out loud. "You have such a way with words. Such a well-spoken and articulate young devil-spawned, vile piece of garbage."

He stepped behind the chair, catching the boy's chin just as he lifted his head at the sound of his friend's voice.

"See, Mello?" he smiled, digging his nails into the younger male's cheek roughly. "I told you I'd take good care of him, didn't I?"

The other line fell silent again.

Paul suppressed a frown. Where were the protests, the cries of misery, the terrified begging? Where was the panic he'd heard yesterday?

"Oh, Mello, don't be such a poor sport!" he scolded softly, winking at the camera. "And here we were, ready to give you a demonstration, isn't that right, Matt?"

The boy may have cursed. The sound was drowned in Paul's own dark laughter.

"We'll play a game, Mello," he began. "The rules are simple. You have four remaining days, including today, to locate this lump of useless flesh here" --he squeezed Matt's left shoulder lightly, extracting a satisfying shudder and choked gasp-- "before I call Game Over and you both lose."

Paul's smile was expectant, excited as he pulled the cord back into view.

"You want to know what happens if you get Game Over, Mello?" he inquired mockingly. "Shall I give you an idea?"

The phone line was silent except for soft, not-quite-concealed uneven breathing. Well, at least it was some sort of response, Paul thought in slight irritation. The wretched pleading would come soon enough.

Paul pulled the cord slowly in front of the striped chest before him, gripping it with both hands and drawing it up to hang loosely around the dark-haired boy's throat, watching in vague amusement the quickly pulsating vein in his neck that signified his heart was pounding like that of a frightened rabbit. Merely prey. Sport. Nothing more.

Paul was absolutely ecstatic. His fingers trembled excitedly, tightening on the ends of the length of wiry rope in his hands, pulling it slowly, almost gently closer against the shivering skin of the soft exposed throat bared to the waiting camera while Ashworth looked on with a rather bored expression, supporting one elbow in his other hand at his waist while he held up the terrible device.

An almost imperceptible sound crackled in a choked whisper from the receiver and was quickly quelled. It only added to his euphoria and Paul imagined the black-clad devil waiting with bated breath and wide, terrified eyes, and he grinned madly.

Even the soft click of the door opening and shutting quietly behind him was not enough to distract him, though he was vaguely aware of his cousin standing curiously near the doorway.

A few seconds passed with only Paul's taunting smile gleaming in the dim room and the soft shuddering breaths of his victim, but Mello said nothing more.

Tired of waiting for the blonde abomination to try pathetically to stop him, the Latino man moved on, whispering in honeyed tones.

"I'm going to show you, Mello," he began, leaning closer to his captive, fierce amber eyes boring through the camera lens into the object of his loathing, "who is predator here and who is prey. I know you're so used to being the dreadful little brat who takes from everyone and knows no limits, but let's see if you can handle a taste of your own medicine."

He wrapped the ends of the cord around his hands securely, pulling it back a little to dig into tender flesh. His eyes were dark molten gold, raging flames of deepest hatred.

"Watch and learn, and know that devils break as readily of honest men once their filthy claws are clipped and their spines torn out." The words came in a low hiss, sharp and harsh, and he pulled back more on the cord, ever so slowly, with every verbal strike.

"Know what it means to suffer helplessly."

A tug on the rope. A choked, rasping hiss of strained breath.

"Know what it is to be powerless and vulnerable and weak."

Another tug. Another tiny sound, an indistinct wheeze.

"Know the agony of your own uselessness, the fragility of your own mind and this brittle human body, the utter lack of meaning in all you've ever had and said and done when everything is gone."

The sounds of struggle were getting softer: choked, gurgling whimpers.

"I want you to pay close attention as I tear it all away and expose you for the worthless wretched excuse for existence which you really are. Watch carefully and see your own sins turned against you now. Watch as I return the service you granted my perfect Emilia. Watch and know there is nothing you can do. Learn to be powerless and know the sting of defeat, the burning pain of loss. You've spent your years treating lives as playthings; now _you _get to play the lethal game of fate with everything at stake, Mello! Are you enjoying yourself?!"

The room echoed with harsh laughter, roaring, resounding sadistic ecstasy deep and resonant and full of darkest malice.

The thick cord was wrapped securely, excruciatingly, around the boy's throat, biting cruelly into soft flesh, crushing the breath from his quivering body, unbearably tight.

And then, finally, the muffled cry of protest he'd been waiting for and relished so.

"What the fuck do you _want_ from me, you _bastard?!_" The outraged howl resounded against the steel walls.

Paul grinned into the camera, fingers slowly, gradually loosening the stranglehold, leaving the fair skin beneath the rope torn and raw.

"_Everything_," he whispered.

Letting the cord fall to the concrete floor, he lashed out once more, grabbing a fistful of auburn locks and jerking the slumped form back up to face the camera with clouded, half-shut emerald eyes, blood leaking slowly from a torn lip, cheeks streaked with dirt and sweat and something more as the boy emitted weak heaving rasps of breath.

A thin, malicious smile played on Paul's lips, twisted and cruel and horribly delighted.

"Come find me and take it back, Mello," he invited softly. "You have only three and a half days left."

There was a muffled thud as the door slammed shut but Paul was too engrossed in his sport to notice the end of a thick black ponytail disappearing beyond the doorway or the light footsteps of the shaken young woman stumbling away in dazed horror.

* * *

**AN (by Hitoshi-chan): ****Tsubasa Rose-**** W****e love you and your reviews. (I also love the fact that as I am writing review replies right now, you are studying for our midterm tomorrow, and as soon as I finish, you are going to help me study. I 3 you. A lot.****)******

CheeseFaerieXXL- okay, you get cookies and love for being our first reviewer. Lots and lots of cookies and love!

Rin-neechan- Thanks for the constructive criticism Mi-chan, especially since you don't even watch DN. Lol.

Everbloom-Karisa-** W****e are so happy you enjoy the length of our chapters! For a while we considered cutting them down, but hearing from you and other reviewers that they liked the length was very encouraging!**

Bakichan- **H****aha, I hope the dark and angst chapters are dark and angst****y**** enough for you! If they're not, don't worry, it kinda gets worse…****-****is shot****-******

Shai-san- Glad to hear you enjoy it! Our villain scare**s**** me too…a lot…lol**

Riku-Aura777- Thank you so much for all of your compliments! Keeping the characters believable and in-character is something we both spend a lot of time perfecting. Oh! I just got to another of your reviews ad I have to comment! Thank you sooo much for the compliments on our OCs! We put a lot of effort into making them realistic, and still incredibly disturbing. It's actually kind of a funny story how Tammy came into being…** W****ell, maybe not that funny, but it makes me giggle.**

Moyashii-**You flatter us! Anyway, thanks so much for your review!**

Matilda- Glad to hear you enjoyed it enough to review! Cheesy as this may sound, reviews are seriously what keep us going! : )

Yuru-neko-**Awww Thanks! The arcade and club scenes were really fun to write. Hope you continue to enjoy!**

Iridescentxroses-Thanks so much!

Mellos True Love-** Thanks a lot for your continued reviews! We're so happy you like it!******

Lynn-**Thanks so much for the review! We try to keep them as in-character as possible. : )**

Chibichibimoonstar-**Thanks so much!**

I **B****rake for Bishounen Boys-**** O****kay, first of all? Love your name. I'm really glad you like the relationship between Mello and Matt. I've also read several other stories where the power play between them is much more intense, and as much as I love some of those stories to death, both Tora and I wanted to write about a Matt and a Mello with a little more equality to them. But of course, we couldn't leave it out entirely as it's a huge part of both Mello and Matt's characterizations. Thanks so much for your insight and appreciation!**

Silvaaeterna-**Very, very happy that you like our OCs! Personally I'm very uncomfortable with writing OCs because they have a tendency to become very unrealistic, and/or take too much of the story's attention. On the other hand, using an existing character as a villain simply wouldn't have worked, especially since this character had to have a personal grudge against Mello. We definitely agree with you about Matt and Mello living a normal life after Kira, it just couldn't happen, at least not for Mello. Haha, glad to hear you like our fluff AND angst, lol. I have always had a much harder time writing angst than Tora (it comes naturally to her lol), and find it actually drains me emotionally to write. That's part of the reason for the fluff. Haha, me and my weak constitution. Glad to hear you enjoy it! We both love and appreciate the length and depth of your reviews!**

Yoroichi.Is.Sailor.L.- **H****ope we don't depress you too much! Thanks so much for your review! If it makes you feel better, I am an utter pansy, and actually cried while writing part of it. Man****,**** I am so pathetic. lol**

C Elise-**Thanks so much! Hope you continue to enjoy! Feel free to tell us what you think of Near!**

Romulus-girl-**Oh no! Don't go insane! Then who will review? Haha, j/k. Thanks so much, glad you enjoy!**

Volital-**Thanks…umm...all of you? We will feed your addiction as fast as possible…sadly that isn't very fast…sorry! Anyway, hope you enjoy! Um, can I have your permission to make a shirt of that? Seriously. "You killed my sister. Prepare to be owned." Best review quote EVER. We love you.**

Kyra213- **Y****eah, we have a lot of those cliffhangers…haha…sorry! Glad you enjoy!  
****Oh, f****ound another review that needs to be responded to! Yeah, I don't know who has it worse, Matt or Mello…Thank you for reviewing!**

Blaze Moonlight-**It's always great to hear that our readers like our characterizations of the characters! (wow****,**** that sounds repetitive…) Thanks so much! Oh, just got to another review of yours! Glad to hear that you can appreciate Paul's side of the story as well. It was very important to us that our villain be justified, at least in his own twisted mind, and even though Paul is obviously in the wrong, it's still not exactly black and white. I agree, Paul deserves to be hated.**

Hannah-**Oh****,**** no! Don't die please! Thanks so much for your review!**

Blue-Candle-**Glad to hear you enjoy it so much!**

Artificial Starlight-**I am very happy our story was able to inspire so many different emotions in you, trust me, we feel them too! Please don't die of anticipation! I can tell you this now, we will NEVER abandon this , or any other story that we write together (or in general, most likely). I know that our update pace is kind of pathetic right now, but we're very busy a****n****d simply have not had the time to keep writing. But don't give up, I SWEAR we will not stop writing this. Thank you so much for all of your encouragement, and continued support. Also, I don't know about Tora, but feel free to PM me (Hitoshi-chan) anytime you feel like bugging us about an update. Although I won't necessarily be able to write any faster, I can at least let you know of our progress (or lack thereof…lol)****.**** Again, we are thrilled you enjoy our story so much!**

Missy Sara-**Thanks so much!**

Roxie Faye- Like Obata himself? You flatter us. Really, your reviews have been so helpful and awesome that I'm not really sure what to say except for thank you so much. We appreciate your continued support **a lot****! You give us great feedback a****n****d inflate our egos probably much more than we need them to be inflated. We both look forward to hearing from you again! Oh, haha, by the way, we know all New Yorkers aren't mean : ) But Matt is silly. Lol.**

Littleryokot-**Thanks so much for your support!**

Rashidlover-**Thanks so much! We'll try to write as fast as we can!**

Riza Mustang103-**Thank you so much for your support! We're both doing pretty well in school, and I just got through my second to last midterm! As soon as I finish my last one, and my brain regroups (it melted a while ago) I will get back to writing. I have decided that being a double major, and in my junior****year of college is not conducive to updating timely. Especially since I have 2 upper division English classes, and then work at the writing center on my campus, so when I get home it's like, "Noooo….no more writing…" lol. Thanks for your patience! Oh and hey, we have no problem with multiple reviews! Seriously! Review as much as you want! : D**

FusedByFlames-**Thank you very much for your review! Glad to hear you like it!**

Living in a Fantasy-**Thank you so much, please get some rest! : )**

Reviewer-**haha, see author's note at top. We're getting there, I swear! Sorry about the wait, but please be patient. We appreciate your support, anyway, thanks for your review!**

Gonzomouse-**…****-****stares at review….is intimidated…****-**** lol…um, for the record? Long reviews equal LOVE. Okay, if I didn't have a midterm that I should have been studying for, for the last hour or so I would respond to everything you said, but seeing as I don't want to fail, I'm very sorry but I'm going to have to make this short. You are awesome. Thank you so much for sharing your feelings and insight with us. Span our inbox all you like! We love it! Thank you so, so, so much for your support and words of encouragement! I hope you continue to enjoy our story! Oh, one more thing, please feel free to let us (****-****cough****- ****me**** -****cough****-****) know what you****think of Near. I put a lot of effort into writing him, and I would really appreciate constructive criticism since I've never written him before. : ) Thanks again for everything!**

Okay! I think I got everybody, if I missed someone I'm very sorry! Know that you are still very appreciated and loved! We've been meaning to do this for a long time, so sorry it took so long. Please excuse anything I wrote that doesn't make sense, I'm not exactly at my best right now. **-****laughs nervously****-**** Seriously though, we love all of you, you guys are so awesome. Reviews keep us going! Please keep giving us feedback whether it's constructive criticism or flattery! : ) Both are awesome…especially flattery…**** -****is shot****-******

Also! To all of you readers who haven't reviewed, you guys are amazing too!

Last thing, I swear, any feedback on Near's characterization would be greatly appreciated! I've never written him before, and kinda want to know what people think of him. It's incredibly difficult to write someone unemotional actually having emotion, but still remaining in character. Love you guys, feel free to PM me (Hitoshi-chan) anytime. Peace out!


	16. Unsteady

**AN: Hey guys, Hitoshi here. Thanks for being so patient with us, and a special thanks to all of those reviewers who were encouraging us to write! On that note, I'd also like to mention something that was bothering Tora and me. We understand and are very grateful that everyone reading enjoys our writing so much, but we both find it offensive and disrespectful to the authors when reviewers are insulting and incredibly rude. We're sorry if we sound too sensitive, and we don't want to discourage any readers from checking up on our pace, or giving us polite reminders, but blatantly insulting us, and assuming that this story is our first priority over family, friends, and other matters, is not the best way to get us to update faster. We do have lives, and as important as this story is to us (and I assure you all it is very important) it does not always come first. Thank you everyone for understanding.**

**Last note, a very special thanks, and hundreds of hugs to Art Star, our official cheerleader. She is made of awesome, and we bow at her feet. She is always making sure we don't forget about this (not that we would ) : ) and we love her lots!**

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Approximately 47 minutes after Mello had ended the call between himself and Near, the dark green cab that Hal had tracked down to transport the two from the airport to Mello's apartment complex arrived at their destination. Near's eyes inspected the premises inquisitively. Despite the fact that he himself had deemed it safe and suitable for Mello and Matt to complete their task in this slightly dilapidated part of town, he had never been there in person, and he took in every detail of his surroundings with a practiced ease, filing it away should he need to call upon some obscure memory later.

Hal stepped out through the car door before the white haired prodigy, and he quietly unfolded the knee that had been resting against his chest, pulling himself out of the cab to trail after the blonde haired woman. His mind was carefully blank as he followed the female agent into what was assumed to be some kind of lobby and he forced his mind to focus on deciphering the unexpected venom present in Mello's voice earlier, rather than allow the knot of tension in his stomach to grow any more.

Hal approached the front desk, and Near leaned against a peeling yellow wall in wait, eye's deceivingly blank for someone so perceptive. His mind however, was anything but blank.

Worrying was a pointless emotion which accomplished nothing but to distract a person's mind from making any actual progress. He knew it well, it was only a matter of reminding himself of that little bit of knowledge every few minutes.

It wasn't as though Near had anything to worry about. If Mello had dug himself into a hole too deep for him to climb out of this time, it was certainly not Near's place to fix it. Nor his place to worry or care about the outcome.

He was merely curious was all, and perhaps somewhat perturbed that something had managed to get under the ex mafia boss' skin more than him.

Hal approached him once more with the small plastic electronic keycard which she slid into the pocket of her black jeans. They would only use it if absolutely necessary, but ideally, Mello would open the door.

They made their way in silence to the door of the room that Mello, and Matt, Near remembered, were staying in. Both of their minds were heavy with speculation, worry, (Hal was more than willing to admit it despite Mello's earlier tantrum) and nervous anticipation, though neither of them visibly betrayed any of these thoughts and concerns.

When they reached the door, Near gave a little sigh before stepping out of the way and allowing Hal to knock.

If Mello were to see Near before he saw Hal, they wouldn't even be able to pry the door open with the jaws of life.

After three solid knocks, Hal took a step back from the door and they both waited.

The ball of tension erupted inside of Near, and the pallid boy paled to an even whiter shade as he quickly and suddenly came to terms with the notion that, yes he was worried, very much in fact, and though he had no problem with admitting a kind of respect for the older Wammy's boy, he was not sure when he had begun to view Mello as something of a comrade…even if it was just barely. It bothered him to no end that he had had this revelation at such an inopportune time, and for once he had to struggle with the muscles in his face not to frown.

This was all Mello's fault. If it wasn't for the stupid inferiority complex afflicted young man, he would be back in Washington, monitoring the closure of his last case, and putting the finishing touches on his Lego replica of Saint Paul's cathedral, not standing at the doorway of a mildly repulsive apartment, having epiphanies about--

His train of thought was cut off as the door creaked open.

Nothing in particular was visible through the inch-wide crack and it did not open further.

Hal frowned, trying to peer in, and hesitantly pushed it open a few centimeters more, voice slightly betraying her concern as she called his name questioningly.

"Mello? We're coming in…"

As soon as the plural implication left her lips however, the door was suddenly thrown open, slamming loudly against the inside wall to reveal a familiar slim dark figure with bright golden hair hanging in lank wet strands about a face of a corpselike white-gray. But it was the look in those startling blue eyes which sent the platinum-haired woman recoiling from the door and stepping instinctively in front of the silent white-clad boy twirling a finger in his unnaturally light curls.

Those eyes, too bright and wide, burning blue flames, so _wild._

Hal knew Mello. She'd worked with him before; she was used to his over-aggressive personality and untamed intense glares, and she had never even flinched.

But _this…_

Every instinct was screaming danger warnings at her and Hal's well-trained muscles almost reacted on their own to reach for a weapon, but she quelled the urge with logical reminders to herself and merely stood protectively before Near, unable to tear her gaze away from those ferocious azure flames.

Only a second passed, those eyes digging into Hal, flitting to the boy behind her, the eyes of a wild animal, untamed and lethal and ready to strike without warning. The eyes of a hounded beast, alarmed and enraged, feral, irrational. They were the eyes of a creature backed into a corner with nowhere to run, on the verge of panic and at least ten times more deadly than usual.

And then he spoke, a low rasp, those dangerous, dangerous eyes fixing on the boy behind her.

"I told you not to fucking bring him."

He took a threatening step forward, gesticulating sharply toward the small teenager, tiny spots of dark red spattering onto the concrete floor before the doorway from numerous small cuts on his hand. Through the opening behind him was visible what may have once been a living room. Much of the plaster on the opposite wall was broken or torn off. There was a shattered laptop just visible to the side of the door and ominous dark spots on the carpet father in.

"Get the fuck away from me, you prying albino shit," he spat, standing in the doorway looking noting short of hunted. "_You are not coming in_."

Black eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as they rapidly scanned the destroyed insides of the medium sized apartment. Splinters of destroyed furniture and shattered glass littered the gray floor, and Near did not fail to notice that the larger shards of glass were spattered with a disconcerting viscous red residue.

Even when they had been young, Near remembered, Mello had always taken his aggression out on his surroundings, and the decimated apartment was perfectly in accordance with his aggressive behavior, particularly considering the ex mafia member's state of being the last time the two had been in contact.

Near 's eyes hardened as he took in the blood flecked broken glass, and he took a slow cautionary step towards Hal's side, allowing him a better view of the enraged man before him and the rest of the apartment, and still staying close enough to Hal for her reaction time to get him out of harm's way should it become necessary. Near doubted Mello would shoot him, but he had visually searched to see if he was carrying a gun just in case, and as far as he could tell, found him unarmed

Once he had adjusted himself into a new position, his mind flew back to the blood on the glass, but his own onyx eyes met lethal blue ice in a kind of silent standoff.

Near knew that Mello's vanity would have never allowed the man to purposely, or even while in a rage, hurt himself. Mello was simply far too much in love with himself to ever allow a fit of spontaneous anger to leave a permanent mark. In fact, besides the obvious burn scar that marred his otherwise flawless skin, Near wouldn't have been surprised to find out that the man probably had very few, if any other scars. He had always taken care of his physical appearance in an obsessively prideful manner.

But judging from the specks of dry blood that coated Mello's fists, there was no question as to how Mello had received such an injury.

It didn't fit. There was nothing that Near knew of that could have effected Mello in such a strong manner. Even the arguments between the two of them never drove the man far enough to forget his fanatical narcissism. The only time that Near could remember Mello EVER disregarding his pride had been the night he and Matt had kidnapped Kiyomi Takada, and Matt had been…

Near paused in his thoughts, remembering his earlier idea to ask Matt what was wrong with Mello. He had only just noticed that the videogame addicted brunette wasn't there.

Despite this information already being confirmed, because surely Matt would have come out if he had heard Mello answer the door, he found his eyes drawn once again to the room behind the blonde, searching for someone whom he was sure would not appear.

Instead his eyes landed on a small table, one of the only surviving pieces of furniture. Bits of the chaos of the room lay scattered atop of it, wood, and blood and glass, but Near barely noticed any of it.

What he noticed first, and last, and only, was the pair of bright orange goggles lying abandoned on the table. He did not miss the dried spot of blood that stained the lenses and strap.

The sight left him feeling cold and sick, and very quickly pieces of his unsolvable puzzle began to fall into place.

Matt never went anywhere without those goggles_. Ever_. Not when he was a child, not when he was a teenager, and not when he had been assisting Mello in trying to put an end to Kira. In the decade or so that Near had known the third ranked genius from Wammy's, Near was certain that the only time he had seen Matt take them off was either to sleep or bathe. They were a piece of what was left of Matt before he became Matt, and Near knew that any Wammy's child who was lucky enough to have some object from their past, rarely let go of it.

An anxious worry overcame him, and Near found himself wanting to be wrong. He had to be wrong. Even if everything made sense now. Even if this piece fit perfectly. Even if all of the evidence was right there in front of him. He _had_ to be wrong. Because Mello wasn't the only one who had a stake in whatever was going on if a certain green eyed gamer was at its center.

He had known Matt first. It was a childish thought, and it held no merit of any value, but it was the only advantage he had over Mello when it came to their mutual acquaintance. He had _been_ there first. Before Mello, before Matt, Near had been at Wammy's, and he had been friendless. He hadn't cared, but it was a fact regardless.

Then Matt had come, with his games, and his goggles, and his smiles, and he had tried to talk to Near. It had been insufferable at first, the auburn haired child going on and on of subjects that held little or no interest to Near, but eventually the white haired boy had gotten used to them. Eventually they had become bearable. Eventually Near had even begun to expect those spontaneous visits to his room, and the idle chatter to which Matt never received an answer. Then just as suddenly they had stopped.

They were not close. He wasn't even sure if he could use the word 'friends' to describe the relationship between himself and Matt, but the facts were plain in the simple truth that the two even had a relationship. Matt was one of two people in the entire world that could somewhat understand him, and the other would have rather died by kira's hand, than even try for civility between the two of them.

All of this self analysis had of course gone through Near's mind in a matter of seconds, and he brought himself back to reality, and back to that glacial blue stare. He didn't even blink as he went straight for the hardest question, that is, if he was right.

"Mello, where is Matt?"

The single, simple question hit Mello with all the weight of a freight train and he was sure he felt his heart stop for a moment, his brain still madly trying to cope, to wrap around the single fact he'd been struggling to deny for days now.

"_Where is Matt?"_

Matt isn't here.

Matt is _gone._

And guess whose fucking fault that is?

Mello wasn't even sure anymore if the boiling, ice-cold loathing coursing wildly through his veins was for Near or for himself now.

He forced his breathing to remain as even as possible, quelled the urge to scream out until his lungs gave out, compelled his hands to keep from clenching until fresh blood oozed from the raw half-moon grooves in his palms.

"Don't change the fucking subject," he finally managed to growl through clenched teeth. "Matt's not here. Does it matter?"

_Holy fucking hell, __**yes, **__it __**does**__ goddam matter…_

A crimson veil flashed before his eyes, and it was getting harder and harder with every strained breath to keep still, to keep from striking out and ripping that disgusting white head clear off its slouching frame. His fingers curled, nails biting into the bleeding skin on his hands once more.

_That bastard's_ face swam into view, replacing Near's stony ashen stare with mad laughter, sick delight, ringing in his ears, choking out the whimpers, pounding in his head.

Paul…

The name had meant nothing to him the first time. Now it had a face which meant nothing. Now that nothing came to signify the depths of detestation, loathing so fresh and hot and piercing it left him blind with rage and breathless with curses which would never be enough to damn his soul deep enough into Hell so that the Devil himself couldn't even save the abhorrent motherfucking piece of putrid refuse which dared call itself a human name.

The motherfucking bastard lump of rancid shit which had fucking _dared_ to touch his, HIS Matt, hurt his Matt… hurt his Matt so badly…

Broken, bleeding, screaming, faded green eyes begging for it all to end, he never, _never_ thought he would see Matt so… so…shattered.

Those horrible weak choked whimpers had filled the air more loudly than peals of thunder.

And it was _all his fucking fault._

No. He forced himself to roughly push away the sudden impulse to hurt and bleed, to fuck himself up so badly that maybe his heart would stop and quit bruising the inside of his ribcage with that wild terrified cadence. No. There had been days when he had been led to believe pain was the only form of repentance, but now he knew there were more important things he needed to be doing. There were other people to blame. First it had been his bastard father. Then it had been Kira. Now…

It was all _Paul's fucking fault_.

It had been that psychotic sadist who had been holding the rope while Mello helplessly watched as the breath was steadily squeezed from painfully heaving lungs, as the life slowly faded from the wide green eyes begging him to save himself, as thick dark streams of red dripped down his chin, as those bleeding lips mouthed ridiculous suggestions of leaving and running and paying no attention.

Mello knew he needed to act fast.

Three days left, the bastard had said.

Three days he needed to be at full capacity, working every second, _finding him_ and getting him the fuck _out of _that dark room.

And he couldn't do it alone, but he _couldn't_ do it with Near here and intruding and watching him with those soulless eyes, judging and weighing and probing. God, _why_ had he trusted Hal to come alone and just help drag him out of the grave he seemed to perpetually be digging for himself? The grave he dug _himself _which other people kept falling into. That Matt kept fucking _diving _into every fucking chance he got because he was just too fucking loyal and beautiful and selfless and kind.

And now Matt _needed_ him and he _could not_ afford to throw away precious minutes wasting his time with Near of all people!

Matted red-brown hair and lightless jade eyes pressed at the edges of his vision, stained crimson.

He needed to act fast.

Rasping, fading breath whispered in his ears.

No room, no time, no need for Near. Near set him off balance. Near clouded his mind. Near could ruin everything. Near needed to be gone far away, right fucking _now._

"…leave." The monosyllabic command was hissed and fierce and held deadly promise. "Matt is away right now, so get the fuck out of my sight before I tear your fucking heart out through your fucking throat."

Though he couldn't seem to put the feeling into words, something very strange for someone as pragmatic as Near, there was something about Mello's words that only solidified his suspicions of Matt's involvement in whatever crisis Mello was facing at the moment. There was still a diminutive chance that Matt's name was a sore subject for some other reason, that he had abandoned the blonde after some kind of fallout.

But the fluorescent orange lenses that lay discarded amongst the surrounding calamity of a broken room screamed otherwise, and Near was much too intelligent to fool himself into believing anything else. Not to mention the white haired boy's inability to believe that Matt had deserted Mello, an act in itself that would go against everything in his nature, and defy every previous characteristic the gamer had displayed all of his life.

Near took all of these known essentials, and worked them through his mind in every way possible. He pushed, pulled, stretched, and even defied them to some degree, but no matter how he worked with them the answer was clear, and always the same.

Mello was incredibly angry, and desperate. Matt was not present. His goggles, something that he was never seen without _were _present. Implying that Matt had either changed his mind after more than a decade of loyalty to Mello, and also had suddenly forsaken his beloved goggles, _or _that wherever Matt was, he was without his goggles not because he chose to be, but because some third barrier was keeping him from returning for them. A barrier that even Mello could not overcome on his own.

Operating under this theory, all of the pieces fit perfectly together. And of course it answered the most pressing question on Near's mind. What could possibly make Mello so desperate not only to call for help, but to sound so unrestrained in the process? The answer seemed obvious, but it also left a bitter taste in the back of Near's mouth. He didn't like the idea of a situation that could separate Mello from Matt and cause the blonde this much distress. It was unsettling, even for him.

Obsidian eyes examined chaotic blue, and Near calculated whether or nor it was safe to remain in Mello's presence under the circumstances. If Matt was really absent, with no sign of coming back… then Near was without Matt's reasoning to buffer Mello's violent temper. It was a trait that had kept Near relatively unharmed on several occasions. No. Mello was not to be challenged now.

With a slight bow of his head, the white clad boy took a single step back and retreated. A move which under other circumstances would have probably given Mello reason to gloat for months to come. But not now; Near doubted Mello even saw the retreat for what it was. He did not turn to Hal just yet though. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he were to turn his back on the blonde, Mello would tear it to shreds. He was just too unpredictable right now, so Near stayed silent and watched, waiting for Mello to make his next move.

Glacial blue eyes followed the movement, followed the step backwards, noted the retreat. He held the white haired boy's blank onyx orbs relentlessly, piercing, enough to send anyone else reeling back in terror. He waited for the other to turn away, as directed.

But Near merely stared back.

Mello's eyes narrowed, a low feral snarl ripping from his throat. The fucking albino wonder just stood there unblinking, not leaving. Mello had so much fucking work to do, and the little shit just stood there staring at him.

Hal, glancing nervously between the two, shifted slightly in Near's direction to cover him if necessary.

Mello grimaced, deciding he'd had enough.

Near had backed up a step; Near had given some concession, or Near was taunting him. Whatever the case, he wasn't leaving and he wasn't coming in, and Mello would rather concede to a lifetime without chocolate than try to care right now. Near could fucking _rot._

And so could Hal for all he fucking gave a shit.

With a final vicious hiss, he bared his teeth in their direction and graced them with a final snarl.

"Get the fuck out of my doorway. Both of you."

And with that, the door slammed resoundingly with a force that shook the entire front face of the building and Mello was gone.

But really, _Mello _had never been there. Hal stared vacantly at the faded wood of the apartment door, slightly shocked, slightly frightened, vastly worried, and a little unsure as to what was real. That feral, desperate creature was not the brilliant analyst and genius marksman she had worked with before. It was not even the terrified, frantically reckless boy she had glimpsed briefly when she'd received a phone call many months ago to drive someone to the hospital.

She didn't know the man beyond the door.

Hal's brows furrowed anxiously and she glanced down at her employer, wondering if he did.

Mello was dangerous. Mello was desperate. Even at his best, Mello was rash.

"Near…" She spoke quietly, one hand hovering unsurely for a moment over the boy's white-clad shoulder as if to urge him away for now, guide him to safety. But she withdrew it quickly, resuming her straight-backed professional stance and looking down in a wordless inquiry.

Near did not look up at her immediately, slowly twirling a few colorless strands around his finger in silent contemplation.

Mello was distraught. Well, that was a preposterous understatement, but it was basically what it boiled down to. Distraught, and beyond the capacity for logical reasoning at the moment. He could not be reached today. Near was over ninety percent certain that further attempts to coax Mello into a more companionable mood would end in abysmal failure. The blonde would not be divulging anything, certainly nothing coherent and unbesmirched by a conglomeration of filthy language.

Several scenarios flashed through his mind at once, and he ran through each in a few milliseconds, modifying, considering, studyingand unfailingly ending at the same conclusion. They were done for today.

L's successor found himself at a dead end. He let out a tiny sigh and turned his back to the blatantly unwelcoming door beyond which he could hear whatever bits of furniture left being demolished.

They would retreat for now, get a building in the same apartment complex and set up a small headquarters. Near was certain of his deductions and measures needed to be taken; Mello could not handle this alone, certainly not in his state.

They would come back tomorrow. In the meantime, Hal looked in need of some recuperation; she deserved at least a few hours of sleep after her stressful night and now this.

Obsidian eyes flickered up to meet the woman's crystalline blue and he gestured vaguely away from Mello's building, toward the entrance to the complex, other hand still diligently preoccupied with curling little clumps of hair around his forefinger.

"We will return tomorrow."

The woman nodded briskly and professionally, but her blue eyes remained a mask of not entirely concealed worry.

Near's were as black and blank as ever but he curled the finger in his hair perhaps just a little too tightly.

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**AN: Hey, it's Tora. And, as promised, update in mid-January. My apologies if it's not exactly the middle of the month; I always was quite terrible at math. In any case, hope everyone enjoyed, sorry it's a bit short, and I'd just like to add that I stand behind Hitoshi in her comments at the opening of the chapter. We really appreciate our readers, but please be considerate. Thanks so very much for keeping up with this and hopefully you'll see an update in less than three months next time. Maybe two and a half. ; )**


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